-,^  '.-..,..•  -, 
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THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


LOS 


UNIVERSITY 
CALIFORNIA 
ANGELES 


r 


ART- LIFE 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


BY 


BENJAMIN  HATHAWAY. 


•  Laurel  crowns  cleave  to  deserts, 
And  power  to  him  who  power  exerts. 
Hast  not  thy  share?    On  winged  feet, 
Lo !  it  rushes  thee  to  meet; 
And  all  that  Nature  made  thy  own, 
Floating  in  air  or  pent  in  stone, 
Will  rive  the  hills  and  swim  the  sea, 
And,  like  thy  shadow,  follow  thee." 

—Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


CHICAGO: 
S.  C.  GRIGGS  &  COMPANY. 

1878. 


All  hearts  the  Poet  fires  are  his  : 
The  subtle  link  of  mind  to  mind  — 
The  link  we  do  not  forge  and  bind, 

Most  precious  is  ;  — 
We  mine  —  not  make  —  the  golden  ore, 
And  love,  like  fabled  fairy  store, 
Divided,  is  not  less  but  more, 

And  true  love  hath  no  jealousies. 


COPYRIGHTED,  1876,  BY 

BKNJAMIN    HATHAWAY. 

PRESS  OF  DONNELLEY,  LOYD  &  Co.,  CHICAGO. 


PS 


TO    MY    MOTHER. 


759393 


Thou  type  of  noblest  Womanhood! 
Thou  who  in  manhood's  evil  day, 
As  by  the  couch  of  infancy, 
Still  faithful  stood; 
Unfaltering,  and  with  purpose  strong, 
Rebuking  all  the  hosts  of  wrong, 
With  "Lore  is  more  than  gift  of  song," 

And  "  Virtue  /.s  the  highest  good." 

Oh  would  these  wildicood  flowers  for  /lice 
Were  robed  in  lieanty's  charm  and  bloom, 
Made  rich  with  every  rare  perfume 

Of  Poesy; 

With  every  grace  of  heart  and  mind, 
With  Woman  in  all  reverence  shrined; 
In  part  repaying  so  in  kind 

A  debt  as  boundless  as  the  sea. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

ART -LIFE  .      1 

MISSISSIPPI         .....  ...        13 

VOICES  FROM  NATURE:— 

SNOW- BlRD         ...  .  .      31 

PEBBLES 35 

FOUEST  HAUNTS      .        .  38 

CHICKADEE  41 

WHIPPOORWILI 44 

SEA -SHELLS         ....  ...        4(5 

„     PHEBE .51 

KATYDID 54 

SUNRISE  BY  THE  SEA 57 

THE  HAPPY  VALLEY      .        .  ....        65 

SONGS  OF  THE  SEASONS:— 

SPRING  VOICES        .        .  ....    89 

SEED-TIME  ...        91 

A  SONG  OP  MAY      .        .  ....     92 

JUNE 94 

AUTUMN  FLOWERS 9(i 

PARTING  SUMMER 99 

ASPHODEL 104 

OCTOBER       .....  ...      107 

AUTUMN  .        .  ...  108 

INDIAN  SUMMER  113 

GARNERED  SHEAVES 117 

WINTER  LAYS 118 

BY  THE  FIRESIDE  128 


TANNHAUSER 
REVISITED    . 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

M ISCELL  ANEOUS  :— 

SONGS  OF  THE  TOILER 

143 

151 

MINE  OWN      . 

IDLE  HOURS 

WAITED  FOR   .... 

UNDER  THE  OAKS 

UNANSWERED  LETTERS                                  •        •  •  167 

COMPENSATIONS •        •  "* 

HOME •  172 

THE  BEAUTIFUL          ...                                •  173 

MOTHERHOOD          ....  •  178 

THE  IMAGE -BREAKER ,    180 

Too  LATE         ......  •  -182 

HOME  FROM  THE  WAN      ....                .  185 

BELOVED 188 

WORK    ...                190 

CHRISTINE .  191 

LITTLE  LINNIE    .        .        .        .        .        .  194 

THE  TIME  TO  BE   .....  197 

COUSIN  CAROLINE 201 

PARTING  FRIENDS .  204 

A  COMPLAINT 200 

HE -EMERGED 208 

CENTENNIAL 211 

ASPIRATION      .        .        .        ...        .  216 

WEDDED  LOVE 218 

FORTY  YEARS  AGO 219 

To  A  WATKK-LILY  226 


ART-LIFE. 


/  looked  on  Genius  when  his  face  shone  grand 
With  fire  of  inspiration ;  when  up -caught 
And  borne  afar  —  a  being  fairer  wrought 

And  nobler  planned, 
Of  purer  clay,  by  finer  instinct  taught 

To  fashion  Beauty  with  a  cunning  hand  — 
To  "build  incarnate  an  undying  Thought. 

And  I  so  poot — the  partial  Fates  deny 

His  larger  gift  —  did  murmur  and  repine; 

Yet  mine  no  less  a  heritage  divine — 
As  pure  and  high; 

All  are  true  heirs  of  the  Inimortal  Nine! 
I  too  hare  wealth  that  gold  can  never  buy: 

I  love — and  lo!  all  that  was  his  is  mine. 


ART-LIFE. 

WHAT  prophet  wide  with  trumpet  tongue  is  teaching 
The  chained  world  its  thought  of  Liberty, 

Till  loving  hearts  go  out  in  meek  beseeching 
And  wild  unbosomed  longing  to  be  free? 

What  stranger  truth  is  new  evangel  preaching 
Of  Life  to  be? 

Diviiiest  Art!  thou  heaven  of  our  aspiring, 

Wherein  our  being  is  in  doing  blest, 
And  duty  is  at  one  with  our  desiring  — 

The  radiant  goal  of  all  earth's  empty  quest: 
The  sternest  toiling  evermore  untiring  — 
The  sweetest  rest ! 

0  joy  supreme!  labor  un vexed  of  wages! 

The  equipoise  of  Good  that  all  things  wait; 
Care  that  all  care,  pain  that  all  pain  assuages; 

Bonds  that  are  free  —  the  brotherhood  of  Fate: 
The  Love  unpledged  that  lives  through  all  the  ages 
Inviolate. 


2  APT- LIFE. 

Who  shall  the  Life  so  beautiful  unseal  us  — 
The  life  whose  labor  is  a  work  of  bliss? 

When  shall  our  doing  of  our  doing  heal  us? 
Our  toiling  rest  us  of  our  weariness? 

Thou  God  within  us,  to  ourselves  reveal  us 
In  perfectness! 

A  desert -way  we  wander  unavailing; 

Anear  the  babbling  brook  we  fainting  lie, 
Or  on  and  on — forevermore  bewailing 

Each  fading  bright  oasis  seeming  nigh: 
Lead  us  by  living  waters  never  failing, 
Oh,  else  we  die! 

With  maniac  hands,  each  nobler  purpose  foiling, 
We  strive  to  do,  yet  know  not  how  or  why; 

We  come  not  to  our  own  in  all  our  toiling, 
We  live  a  falsehood  till  we  love  the  lie; 

And,  strangers  to  ourselves,  our  gifts  despoiling, 
We  live  and  die. 

Might  bread  alone  appease  this  deathless  yearning, 
For  bread  alone  to  toil  were  meet  and  fit; 

But  oh,  we  feel,  however  dimly  burning 
Within  the  soul  the  fire  celestial  lit, 

If  Love  is  not  the  wages  of  our  earning 
What  profits  it? 


ART -LIFE. 

Ungenial  toil,  our  meaner  wants  supplying, 
Our  better  life  for  this  its  birthright  sells; 

In  all  our  doing  we  are  only  dying 
With  quenchless  thirsting  for  Art's  living  wells: 

Give  us  the  labor  and  the  self-denying, 
Genius  impels! 

Genius,  that  is  of  Virtue  the  fair  flowering  — 

All  noble  aspirations,  true  and  brave; 
The  deathless  love  with  life  immortal  dowering 

Alike  the  pencilled  dream,  the  poet's  stave, 
The  sculptured  bust,  the  chiselled  column  towering 
To  architrave. 

All -conquering  Genius!  where  is  now  thy  dwelling? 

In  what  fair  clime  is  reared  Minerva's  home? 
Whose  proudest  fanes  Time's  rudest  hand  is  felling: 

Immortal  Athens1  beauty  -  sculptured  dome; 
Thy  Coliseum,  of  Art's  triumph  telling. 
Imperial  Rome! 

Where  lives  the  soul  —  in  what  fair  incarnation  — 
That  woke  of  old  the  desert -city's  smile? 

Palmyra,  peerless  in  thy  devastation! 
And  hundred  -  gated  Thebes  —  stupendous  pile, 

Girding  the  waste  in  awful  desolation 
By  sacred  Nile! 


4  ART- LIFE. 

Oh,  still  meseems  more  vital  breath  distilling 

From  crumbling  dome  where  alien  footstep  treads; 

A  haughty  glance  of  nobler  being  dwelling 
In  stern  repose  of  Ammon's  stony  lids  — 

Of  morning  Memnon,  glory  -  smitten,  thrilling 
The  Pyramids! 

Beneath  thy  dust  what  hoary  gods  are  sleeping  — 
Deathless  heroes,  drunken  on  lotus  balm ! 

Around  whose  couch  are  nameless  sphinxes  keeping 
Their  hallowed  watches,  robed  in  sullen  calm; 

By  many  a  long  -  forgotten  shrine  is  weeping 
The  desert  palm. 

Oh,  day  by  day,  with  an  intenser  yearning, 
How  do  we  turn  with  still  expectant  eyes 

To  greet  thy  rising  day  more  fair  returning, 
Divinest  Art!  than  lit  thy  morning  rise 

On  Grecian  hills,  or  sunset -halo  burning 
Italia's  skies! 

Perchance  our  life  in  light  so  sweetly  tender 
Has  some  reflected  grandeur  faintly  caught; 

To  thee  these  weaker  years  still  turn  with  wonder, 
Sublimer  age!  with  inspiration  fraught, 

When  Pericles  outrayed  immortal  splendor, 
And  Phidias  wrought. 


ART- LIFE. 

Alas!  how  prone  the  weary  years  are  fleeing 
In  lust  of  gold,  or  fame's  unquiet  quest; 

With  heart  and  hand  in  endless  disagreeing 
O'er  miscalled  duties  —  while  in  every  breast 

Lives  the  monition  of  more  beauteous  being, 
In  vague  unrest. 

The  youth  glad  hears  his  better  genius  calling, 
Like  far-off  murmur  of  unquiet  seas; 

In  vain  he  waits  more  happy  hours  befalling  — 
Time  heartless  speeds  apace,  life's  morning  flees; 

Age  seals  his  fiery  lip  —  some  world  -  enthralling 
Demosthenes. 

And  maiden  heart,  in  rarest  dream  elysian, 
Would  thrill  all  being  with  a  love -refrain; 

But  Nature's  need,  and  endless  improvision 
Of  household  care,  or  oft  maternal  pain, 

Swift  breaks  the  spell  of  each  too  ardent  vision 
And  dreaming  vain. 

How  many  a  soul  by  world  of  sorrow  shaded, 
Deep  in  whose  wells  the  gems  of  Genius  shine  — 

How  many  a  hand  with  weary  task  o'erladed, 
But  digs  the  soil  or  delves  the  darkened  mine  — 

That  could  have  wrought,  by  kindlier  fortune  aided. 
A  work  divine! 


6  ART -LIFE. 

And  who  may  say,  whom  more  of  strength  embolden 
Or  chance  from  meaner  care  some  respite  win, 

The  happier  few — if  throned  in  region  golden 
Of  radiant  Art,  afar  from  strife  and  din, 

What  forms  transcendent,  by  oblivion  holden, 
There  might  have  been? 

Oh,  ever  on  untrodden  walks  ascending 
To  drink  from  Inspiration's  storied  well, 

On  heights  of  song  in  loftier  glory  bending. 
Free  of  the  boundless  universe  to  dwell! 

Like  olden  Bard,  a  life  serenely  lending 
To  Beauty's  spell! 

To  tread  with  winged  feet  and  heart  imperial 
The  hills  of  morn,  with  sparry  splendors  rife; 

A  cloudless  realm  of  loving  light  aerial, 
Unwrecked  of  wrong,  ungloomed  of  pain  and  strife: 

High  crowned  and  glorious  in  a  world  ethereal — 
Life's  dream  of  Life! 

Alas!  deep  thirsting  for  the  wave  enchanted 
No  summer  prime  unseals  those  limpid  springs : 

Far  gazing  on  the  mountain  way  undaunted, 
And  glad  to  soar  above  all  meaner  things, 

The  longing  spirit  lags,  though  vision  -  haunted, 
On  weaned  wings. 


ART -LIFE. 

And  prone  are  thousands  by  the  wayside  lying: 
Crushed  are  their  aspirations,  but  not  dead: 

For  some  high  Art,  diviner  being,  sighing  — 
For  free,  true  life,  unsoiled  of  want  and  dread; 

Toiling  and  toiling  —  a  vain  self-denying 
For  daily  bread. 

With  longings  vain,  and  strivings  all  unaided. 

No  longer  beaconed  by  Hope's  lustrous  light. 
In  vain  they  mourn  life's  fair  ideal  faded; 

Their  morning  sun  at  noon  is  set  in  night; 
In  vain  they  seek  the  doing  undegraded  — 
A  life -delight. 

Yet  evermore  new  aspirations  springing 

Like  summer  flowers,  our  winter  paths  adorn; 

And,  wearing  late,  the  glooming  night  is  bringing 
Anon  the  better  prophecy  of  morn; 

Though  still  we  wait,  through  ages  darkly  winging 
An  JEon  born  — 

When  Life  shall  flow  like  some  wide -rolling  river. 

A  far,  free,  shining  course  serenely  run; 
To  brighten,  deepen,  broaden  on  forever, 

The  days  of  its  high  destiny  begun; 
When  Love  and  Labor  nevermore  shall  sever — 
Their  being  one. 


8  ART -LIFE. 

We  are  the  lights  on  Life's  mysterious  dial, 
The  radiant  stops  on  Love's  celestial  horn; 

High  Heaven's  orchestra  on  untutored  trial, 
With  harps  discordant,  dolorous,  and  forlorn; 

Or  waiting,  hushed,  like  Egypt's  stony  viol, 
The  flush  of  morn. 

0  Life  of  Art !     Thou  life  serene  and  holy  — 
Thou  God -ordained  balm  for  every  woe! 

Up  wing  thy  sovereign  day  that  lightens  slowly; 
Unchain  each  suffering  soul  that  would  be  true; 

Whate'er  our  part,  if  proud  it  be  or  lowly, 
Give  us  to  do! 

Oh,  once  again  with  medicine  and  healing 
Into  our  hearts  on  rhythmic  measures  float; 

A  higher  life  in  nobleness  unsealing, 

Unveiling  near  Love's  ancient  heaven  remote; 

For  every  evil  of  our  flesh  revealing 
The  antidote. 

As  mountain  pine,  in  rugged  grandeur  growing, 
Finds  Nature's  fullness  in  that  bleak  abode, 

Or  lowly  blooms,  its  inner  life  outshowing. 

The  humblest  flower  that  decks  the  meadow  sod: 

So  finds  the  soul  in  Art's  diviner  doing 
Its  home  in  God. 


ART -LIFE. 

There  limpid  springs  the  Fount  of  Youth  eternal, 
That  many  a  league  our  weary  feet  beguiles; 

There  lie  Hesperian  fields  serene  and  vernal, 
Whose  magic  shore  from  far  receding  smiles; 

Anchored  in  thee,  the  evergreen,  supernal 
Enchanted  Isles. 

Therein  alone  we  drink  Life's  blest  oblation; 

There  lives  the  Real  our  Ideal  brings; 
Therein  we  roam  —  an  endless  recreation  — 

Untrodden  paths  that  lie  by  living  springs ; 
Therein  is  giving  to  our  aspiration 
Unfettered  wings. 

Thou  final  Good!  the  theme  of  wisest  sages; 

Beginning,  end,  and  goal  of  Liberty; 
The  choral  hymn  that  echoes  down  the  ages, 

The  inspiration  of  all  prophecy, 
The  golden  days  all  Poet's  song  presages  — 
The  TIME  TO  BE! 

Our  feeble  hands  in  thee  alone  are  mighty, 
In  thee  our  triumph  in  overmastering  strife; 

We  turn  to  thee,  as  to  yon  heavens  nightly, 
Far  seeming  ever  with  new  glories  rife; 

For  Art -Love  only  is  the  Elixir- Yitae — 
The  LIFE  OF  LIFE! 


MISSISSIPPI. 


If  aught  can  lift  the  Soul  to  nobler  mood  — 

From  thought  and  feeling  prone, 
From  passion's  Laser  stcay,  life  disenthrall  — 

Full  on  the  height*  enthrone,  — 
It  is  to  roam  the  verdured  solitude, 

Alone,  yet  not  alone; 
To  hark  the  voices  from  the  silence  call, 

Dear  as  each  household  tone; 
To  feel,  u-itli  future's  ampler  life  i mimed, 

Free  as  the  free  winds  bloicn, 

The  heart  fall  pulsing  irith  the  heart  of  all  — 

One  with  the  Great  Unknown. 


MISSISSIPPI. 


ALL  HAIL  !  thou  mighty  stretch  of  inland  sea, 
Now  for  the  first  unto  my  sight  outlying! 

No  faintly  -  canvassed  imagery  of  thee. 

But  in  thy  glory  and  thy  majesty 

Murmuring  immortal  harmonies,  outvying 
The  troubled  ocean  in  its  fitful  sighing  — 
The  tide  -  disturbing  sea. 


Oft  have  I  wandered  in  a  visioned  dream 

Through  radiant  summer  lands  of  memories  olden; 
Where  rock  and  hill  and  vale  and  wood  and  stream 
Far  glanced  and  brightened  to  the  kindling  beam 
Of  fairer,  sunnier  climes,  serene  and  golden ; 
While  heart  and  thought  in  mystic  band  were  holden 
In  one  long  radiant  dream. 


MISSISSIPPI. 


But  peerless  thy  sublimity  of  scene: 

Looming  immense,  in  stern  wild  grandeur  sleeping, 

Thy  hills,  far  glimmering  in  the  noontide  sheen. 

The  headlong  rush  of  eddying  floods  between 
Wave  -  warding  cliffs,  thy  shores  high  overleaping, 
With  many  a  legend  strange  in  their  dim  keeping. 
Surpass  each  dream  -  born  scene. 


Far  as  the  eye  can  trace  I  see  thy  might 

Of  hurrying  waters  in  their  seaward  flashing; 
While  cleaving  yonder  deeps  of  crystal  light 
Ledge  high  on  ledge  uprears  a  dizzy  height, 
Majestic  frowning  on  thy  wayward  dashing, 
Chafing  the  echoing  shores  with  ceaseless  lashing 
And  still  unwearied  might. 


Thy  voiceful  murmur  hath  a  cadence  deep, 

That  Echo  answers  from  her  craggy  dwelling; 
Waked  are  thy  billows  from  their  icy  sleep, 
And  madly  surging  as  they  rush  and  leap 
O'er  all  the  embosomed  valley  wildly  welling; 
Or  fearful  and  resistless  onward  -  swelling  - 
Unto  the  waiting  deep. 


MISSISSIPPI.  15 


Yet  thine  the  music  of  the  mountain  springs  — 
The  swelling  song  of  myriad  rillets  blending; 

Each  tiny  fount  its  rippling  treasure  brings, 

That  far  amid  the  Alleghanies  sings; 

While  in  the  sunset -land,  their  tribute  lending, 
Are  serried,  snow  -  capped,  bleak  Sierras,  sending 
Their  glad  eternal  springs. 


And  it  were  joy  their  shining  track  to  trace 

Through  thousand  green  savannas  to  their  sources; 
Fair  fenceless  fields  in  Nature's  wildest  grace 
Thy  countless  streams  meandering  interlace; 

Still  hastening,  murmuring,  dallying  in  their  courses, 
Through  many  a  wild  where  Art's  despoiling  forces 
Have  left  no  darkening  trace. 


Charmed  with  the  music  of  thy  lullaby 

So  softly  crooning  to  the  Hesper-even, 
Forgot  the  anguish  of  each  sundered  tie, 
The  wrongs  forgotten  of  the  years  gone  by, 
The  harsher  world  forgotten  and  forgiven  — 
How  might  I  hear  the  seraph  -  song  of  Heaven 
In  thy  soft  lullaby! 


MISSISSIPPI. 


Blest  with  some  friend  of  sympathizing  breast, 

Though  prone  to  err,  yet  loving  and  forgiving, 
And  taught  of  sorrow  that  the  sweetest  rest, 
The  fullest  blessing,  is  in  making  blest; 
That  truest  balm  for  .pain  is  pain  -  relieving ; 
Whose  thought  upreaches  to  the  ever -living 
All  -  sympathizing  breast,  — 


How  sweet  to  dwell  apart  from  care  and  strife, 
By  grove  and  stream  with  inspiration  teeming; 

To  hail  each  day  with  some  new  rapture  rife. 

To  taste  the  true  sublimity  of  life 
In  some  fair  sylvan  haunt  of  Eden  -  seeming. 
More  beauteous  than  charms  the  poet's  dreaming. 
Unvexed  with  care  and  strife: 


Where  no  rude  sound  disturbs  the  tranquil  dream. 

The  sacred  calm  on  earth  and  azure  lying; 
Where  mellowed  murmurs  of  each  laughing  stream 
That  glances  wanton  in  the  glittering  beam, 
The  wood  -  bowers  wakened  to  a  soft  replying. 
Or  hushed  as  listening  to  thy  farewell  sighing  — 
All  weave  enchanted  dream. 


MISSISSIPPI.  17 


There,  where  the  gardens  of  the  desert  shine. 
The  housewife  bee  her  busy  craft  is  plying, 
Industrious  hoarding  till  the  day's  decline 
From  blushing  wood  -  rose  and  sweet  eglantine 
The  luscious  stores,  her  winter  wants  supplying: 
Nor  rests  from  toil  till  Autumn  pale  is  sighing. 
And  dimmed  each  floweret's  shine. 


There  through  the  quiet  of  the  summer  days 
Rises  the  mound,  the  cunning  gopher's  mining; 

There  undisturbed  the  tameless  bison  strays, 

The  wary  elk  and  moose  securely  graze  — 
Are  lazily  on  mossy  bank  reclining; 
While  the  long  hours  are  bright  with  sun  and  shining 
And  breath  of  summer  days. 


Unmeasured  leagues,  where  thy  glad  fountains  rise, 
The  Red  Man  rears  his  rude  bark -covered  dwelling; 

His  simple  wants  the  wonted  chase  supplies; 

Nor  taught  to  miss  what  partial  Fate  denies, 
His  heart  elate  with  warrior  pride  is  swelling. 
Unmindful  of  the  prophet  -  voices  telling 
Of  darker  days'  uprise. 

3 


MISSISSIPPI. 


There  the  young  hunter  with  a  boldness  rare 
Roams  the  deep  forest  as  the  day  is  whiling. 

To  trail  the  panther  to  his  lonely  lair 

Or  thread  the  mazes  of  the  wily  bear  — 
•Brave  deeds  alone  his  every  thought  beguiling. 
Such  as  may  win  the  bright  eyes'  kindliest  smiling 
Of  forest  -  maiden  rare. 


There  too,  as  deepens  the  departing  da}'. 

The  dark  -  eyed  daughter  of  the  desert,  stealing 
From  the  home  -  wigwam  silently  away. 
Unchidden  wanders  in  the  twilight  ray 

To  list  confiding  unto  Love's  revealing; 

While  blissful  promise,  to  her  sight  unsealing. 
Floods  many  a  coming  day. 


And  who  shall  say  if  yet  her  lowly  life, 

So  seeming  shut  in  want  and  degradation, 
Mid  forest  wilds,  mid  scenes  of  warrior -strife, 
Through  all  its  changeful  years  of  maid  and  wife 
Finds  not  alone  in  love  the  compensation 
Of  every  loss;  0  heavenly  constellation. 
Set  in  the  lowliest  life! 


MISSISSIPPI.  19 


And  thou:  what  wondrous  voices  from  the  Past 
Do  babble  to  us  in  thy  waves'  deploring 

Of  mightiest  secrets  in  oblivion  cast! 

Who  shall  unseal  them  from  the  slumbering  vast  ? 
Re-tune  thy  lyre,  some  olden  strain  outpouring, 
The  lore  of  long -departed  days  restoring, 
Thou  Spirit  of  the  Past! 


Weave  us  some  Idyl  of  the  Ages  flown! 

•  Help  thou  our  reason  in  its  weak  divining, 
To  read  the  record  of  the  years  unknown! 
The  site  of  ancient  empires  overthrown, 
The  crumbled  wall  the  forest  dimly  lining, 
Where  bows  the  cypress  to  the  ivy's  twining, 
Tell  of  the  ages  flown. 


These,  the  memorials  of  the  days  of  yore, 
lieveal  the  Present  to  the  Past  related; 
A  race,  a  people,  that  are  now  no  more, 
Here  reared  proud  temples  on  thy  lonely  shore  — 
Of  strange  and  uiiremembered  art  created, 
To  long -forgotten  worship  consecrated 
In  the  far  days  of  yore. l 


20  MISSISSIPPI. 


For  thou  hast  looked  on  minaret  and  dome  — 

On  thronging  cities  that  the  earth  is  hiding: 
Whose  days  were  numbered  ere  the  infant  Rome 
Had  wrought  the  grandeur  of  each  palace  home; 
Some  senior  Carthage  in  her  glory  priding. 
Some  old  imperial  Thebes — .though  unabiding 
Arch,  column,  wall,  and  dome. 


Some  elder  Athens  of  the  Astalan, 

Rites,  altars,  fanes,  all  that  the  worship  aided 
Of  Isis,  Buddha,  or  an  older  than 
These  hoary  gods, — old  as  the  life  of  Man; 

Some  ancient  Tyre,  august  and  undegraded. 

By  the  destroying  hand  of  Time  invaded.  — 
Pride  of  the  Astalan.  2 


Some  rare  Damascus  of  the  elder  world, 

Prouder  than  her  the  Syrian  gardens  shading; 

Nineveh,  on  thy  fairer  shores  impearled; 

Some  Babylon  from  her  foundations  hurled, 
Ere  thine,  Euphrates,  saw  her  glory  fading ; 
Silently  teaching  —  history  upbraiding  — 
Thine  is  the  elder  world. 


MISSISSIPPI,  21 


What  time  the  bison  by  the  gleaming  maize, 

Or  o'er  the  furrowed  glebe  the  share  constraining. 
Through  all  the  loitering  sultry  summer  days, 
Where  now  untamed  his  thousand  fellows  graze. 
Bent  his  strong  shagged  shoulder  uncomplaining. 
The  netted  muzzle  him  alone  restraining 
From  the  fair -gleaming  maize. 


Where  vale  and  hill  and  wide -expanding  plain 
And  grassy  field,  unshorn,  uncultured  lying. 

To  beauty  quickened  by  the  sun  and  rain. 

Waved  golden  billowed  with  the  ripened  grain; 
While  busy  swains,  the  frugal  sickle  plying, 
With  cheerful  song  to  cheerful  song  replying. 
Enchanted  all  the  plain. 


When  as  the  day  wore  tranquil  to  its  close. 

The  hour  of  labor  with  the  daylight  ending, 
From  sylvan  homes  of  undisturbed  repose 
Th«-  vesper  hymn  in  thankfulness  arose 

From  loving  hearts  in  one  communion  blending: 
A  truthful  life  of  true  affection  lending 
Light  to  its  final  close. 


22  MISSISSIPPI. 


Long  peaceful  years  in  peasant  -  labor  led, 
No  bloody  deeds  its  simple  joys  degrading: 

A  guileless  race  in  rural  freedom  bred. 

Unskilled  in  arts  that  fill  the  earth  with  dread. 

Its  pleasant  places  with  a  fearful  shading: 

No  thirst  for  gain  or  selfish  aim  invading 

The  simple  life  they  led. 


All.  all  have  vanished  from  the  earth  away. 

And  none  are  left  their  tragic  end  declaring: 
If  swiftly  blotted  from  the  face  of  day, 
Of  war.  of  famine,  pestilence  the  prey, 

If  haply  wrought  to  deeds  of  fearless  daring 
They  nobly  bled,  unconquered.  undespairing, 
Till  life  had  ebbed  awav. 


The  tierce  and  warlike  Hunter -tribes  arose  — 

The  wandering  lost  of  Israel's  bewailing: 
If  thickly  compassed  with  barbaric  foes, 
To  warrior  arm  must  warrior  arm  oppose; 
The  earth -built  barriers  were  unavailing: 
No  tree -born  race  survives,  its  freedom  failing, 
Where  its  free  altars  rose. 


MISSISSIPPI.  23 


And  long  unnumbered  centuries  have  flown; 

Arch.  dome,  and  wall  have  yielded  to  their  grading: 
Where  on  the  plain  the  smiling  cities  shone 
A  dense  and  rugged  wilderness  has  grown; 

The  altar -mound  the  ancient  oak  is  shading; 

Each  lingering  trace  is  darkly  dim  and  fading, 

And  soon  shall  all  be  flown. 

*  *  * 

But  oh.  what  vision  of  the  Golden  Year. 

As  from  their  trance  thy  slumbering  billows  started ! 
To  see  across  the  solitudes  austere 
Adventurous  bark  thy  regal  empire  near  — 

A  stalwart  band,  rude -girt  yet  fearless  -  hearted ; 

The  kindling  dawn  the  misty  night -gloom  parted  — 
Dawn  of  the  Golden  Year: 


When  he.  the  knight  with  snowy  locks,  but  still 
His  fiery  heart  with  youthful  ardor  burning. 

Sought  on  thy  Gulf's  far  shores  the  mystic  rill. 

The  legend  -  promised  Fount  whose  springs  distil 
Perpetual  Youth,  its  vernal  bloom  returning: 
He  came  —  he  went  — with  disappointment  yearning. 
His  white  locks  whiter  still.  3 


24  MISSISSIPPI. 


And  he,  grim  seeker,  further  on  —  his  quest 
The  Fount  of  Youth,  of  Eldorado  dreaming, 

Glad  hailed  thee.  sinking  on  thy  banks  to  rest: 

Though  life  was  ebbing  in  his  aged  breast, 

Full  with  exultant  joy  his  great  heart  teeming  — 

"Behold,  more  rich  than  treasured  Ophir  gleaming. 
The  objects  of  our  quest!"  4 


As  though  transported  to  thy  farthest  shore. 

In  rarer  light,  his  mortal  vision  failing. 
He  gazed  in  wonder  on  each  hidden  store: 
On  wealth  immeasured  of  the  glittering  ore. 
These  later  years  to  outer  sight  unveiling : 
And  heard  the  hosts  of  tramping  miners  trailing 
To-day  thy  farthest  shore. 


But  he  too  sought  the  hidden  spot  in  vain; 
His  comrades  left  him  to  thy  billows'  caring: 

Then  mournful  turning  from  that  task  of  pain. 

With  thoughts  that  whispered  of  their  native  Spain. 
Of  dark  eyes  Aveeping,  of  Love's  long  despairing, 
Went  sorrowing  on;  but  saddened  memories  bearing 
Of  that  wild  vision  vain. 


MISSISSIPPI.  25 


Wild  vision  vain  ?  —  that  was  prophetic  dream : 

The  meaner  typo  of  man's  prophetic  yearning; 
And  here  by  thee,  De  Soto's  mighty  stream, 
Shall  yet  the  long -sought  Eldorado  gleam; 

Where  all  shall  find,  the  Grolden  Days  returning. 
The  truest  wealth;  the  deeper  import  learning 
Of  that  wild  fabled  dream. 


Through  radiant  vistas  of  the  coining  time 
I  see  the  glories  of  the  Future's  bringing, 

Fair  as  the  promise  of  Creation's  prime; 

The  prophet  voice  of  poet -seer  sublime 

Still  cheers  our  aspirations  lowly  springing: 
The  fleeing  years  are  through  swift  circles  winging 
Unto  the  Better  Time; 


When  gentle  deeds  shall  bless  an  ampler  day; 

Whose  rising  beam,  a  rayless  night  succeeding. 
1  "lushes  with  rosy  dawn  the  twilight  gray; 
When  life  shall  kindle  with  serener  ray, 

And  Art  and  Science,  in  their  upward  leading. 

And  Genius,  on  her  starry  pathway  speeding. 
Shall  bless  the  risen  day. 


MISSISSIPPI. 


Though  thrice  a  hundred  leagues  of  Silent  Lund  - 

Or  but  thy  voice  the  solitudes  beguiling  — 
Stretch  far  away  to  where  sublimely  stand 
The  cloud-girt  snow-capped  mountains  lone  and  grand. 
Erelong  in  noontide  beam  of  Freedom  smiling 
Shall  cities  of  a  free  -  born  nation's  piling 
Fill  all  the  Silent  Land. 


On  all  is  change  —  the  mystic  change  of  life. 

The  breath  divine  forever  all  things  freeing; 
The  world  is  girded  for  its  progress  -  strife : 
The  lonely  desert  with  its  voice  is  rife  — 

The  solitary  place  afar  is  fleeing : 

The  Form  is  changeful,  as  the  Soul  of  Being 
Ascends  to  higher  life. 


Though  changing,  still  unchanged  forevermoiv 

In  thy  vast  cycles,  boundless  and  unending, 
Still  onward  do  thy  billows  ceaseless  pour, 
While  empires  bloom  and  fade  along  thy  shore, 
Till  nobler  dust  with  meaner  dust  is  blending; 
From  age  to  age  thy  anthem -song  ascending 
Rings  out  forevermore. 


NOTES. 


1.  -This  ancient  race  seems  to  have  occupied  nearly  the  whole  basin  oi 
the  Mississippi  and  its  tributaries,  with  the  fertile  plains  along  the  Gulf,  and 
their  settlements  were  continued  across  the  Uio  Grande  into  Mexico." 

Baldwin'*  Ancient  America,  p.  32. 


2.  "The  people  inhabiting  the  Vale  of  Mexico  at  the  time  the  Spaniards 
overrun  that  country,  were  called  Astecks —  having  come  from  the  North, 
from  a  country  they  called  Astalan;  literally,  a  country  of  much  water." 

See  Hmnboldt'g  Researches  in  South  America. 


3.  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon.  In  the  IHth  century,  this  enthusiastic  adventurer 
visited  a  portion  of  the  continent  lying  on  the  Gulf,  while  in  command  of 
an  expedition  fitted  out  by  himself,  for  discovering  the  Fountain  of  Youth, 
which  was  thought  by  the  natives  of  Porto  Rico  to  exist  in  one  of  the  Lncayo 
Isles.  Its  virtues  were  such  that  all  who  bathed  in  its  waters  would  be 
restored  to  the  bloom  of  youth. 

See  liuberlson'x  Hiftory  of  Ann  •/•/'/•</. 


4.  Hurnando  !)»•  Soto.  •'  Mournfully  depositing  the  body  of  their  beloved 
commander,  wrapped  in  his  mantle,  in  the  trunk  of  an  evergreen  Oak.  hol 
lowed  out  for  that  purpose,  they  reverently  lowered  it  at  midnight  beneath 
the  waters  of  that  magnificent  river  he  had  been  the  first  to  discover." 

Discovery  of  the  Mississippi. 


VOICES    FROM    NATURE. 


As  child  bewildered  in  the  thronging  mart, 
We  look  on  Nature  ax  ft  pageant  grand, 
But  only  as  the  pageant  of  an  hour; 
Nor  see  that  all — tree,  shrub,  and  forest  fairer. 
June  roses  rare,  by  Summer  breezes  fanned,  — 
Bloom  erermore  in  gardens  of  the  heart. 

The  woodland  bird  that  sings,  surpassing  art, 
The  insect  life  that  thrills  the  tirUight  hour, 

The  mountains  rast,  the  tide -led  seas  that  rail 
From  Arctic  Pole  unto  Antarctic  Pole, 
Are  all  a  portion  of  the  Sj>!rlt's  iloirer — 
Are  all  of  the  Immortal  Soul  <i  part. 


SNOW-BIRD. 

0  ARCTIC  rover  bold! 

When  forth  in  tierce  array, 
Resistless  home  from  farthest  Labrador, 

With  tyrant  sway 
The  icy  squadrons  pour  — 

Rage  wide  o'er  wood  and  wold, 
What  never-dying  love  thy  bosom  warms! 
What  dauntless  heart  thy  puny  wings  enfold. 
To  breast  the  wintry  storms  — 
Thou  scorner  of  the  cold ! 

T  see  thee  come  and  go 

In  thy  swift  eager  flight, 
Piercing  the  keen  cold  air  with  sudden  wing 

Of  quick  delight  — 
A  bright  ethereal  thing; 

While,  like  the  flitting  show 
Of  poet  thoughts  that  scarce  embodied  are, 
A  thousand  storm -led  kindred  pinions  glow, 
Upswirled  and  blown  afar— 
A  cloud  of  drifting  snow. 


,"2  SNOW-IUKl). 

Are  all  alike  to  thee 

The  storm  and  sunshine?  —  are 
The  ever -changeful  seasons  as  they  go 

Forever  fair? 
Is  in  thy  breast  the  glow 

Of  suns  we  may  not  see  — 
Lighting  thy  way  so  airily,  to  wed 
Joys  of  the  past  to  joy  and  mystery 
Of  realms  thy  wings  shall  thread. 
Journeying  fleet  and  free? 

Nor  toil  is  thine,  nor  care: 

For  thee  the  wayside  weeds 
And  frosted  hedge -row  yield  an  ample  store 

Of  ripened  seeds; 
And  every  land  and  shore 

Where  thy  free  pinions  bear, 
Is  all  thine  own;  in  Nature's  mother -heart 
Is  thine  abode;  in  all  the  homeless  air 
Domesticate  thou  art: 
Thy  home  is  everywhere. 

They  tell  us,  far  remote 

In  woodland  mountain  air. 
Amid  Katahdin's  shadow  -  haunted  glooms. 

When  June  hours  fair 
Are  gay  with  summer  blooms, 


SNOW-B1KI>.  38 

Thine  is  ;i  minstrel  throat 

That  charms  with  song  the  love  -  delighted  days. 
Thrilling  the  silence  of  each  cave  and  grot: 
Wake,  of  remembered  lays. 
One  joy  -  inspiring  note! 

Oh,  but  to  enter  in 

Thy  fairer  world!  to  see. 
We  know  not  what  —  though  knowing  all  is  fair, 

Whatever  be, 
As  the  transcendent  air 

Of  heaven  to  souls  that  win 
Release  from  mortal  ills:  no  tired  brain 
O'er  unsolved  mysteries,  no  battle -din. 
No  tears,  no  loved  in  vain, 

No  loss,  no  might-have-been. 

What  deeper  sight  is  thine, 

With  what  a  soul  possessed. 
Thou  pretty  pinch  of  clay  —  thou  sturdy,  bold 

Evangelist, 
Preacher  of  gospel  old ! 

Had  I  the  subtle,  fine 

Ethereal  blood  that  thrills  thy  radiant  dust  — 
Had  such  unstudied  art  this  harp  of  mine. 
Thy  simple  love  and  trust 

All  human  hearts  should  shrine. 


34  SHOW -BIRD. 

Ah  me!  if  cognizant 

Of  all  thy  little  needs 
Is  One,  with  tender  breast  to  pity  stirred. 

Who  loves  and  feeds 
Even  thee,  my  lowly  bird, 

That  Winter  cannot  daunt: 
An  Eye  that  sees,  a  Hand  that  holds  and  guides 
Thy  devious  flight  across  a  continent. 
And  evermore  provides, 
Forecasting  ever}'  want:  — 

Is  it  less  provident 

Of  thee  —  the  care  divine  ? 
Less  worthy  thou  of  the  benignant  heed. 

0  heart  of  mine. 
Ln  this  thy  human  need? 

Love's  shining  battlement 
Leans  evermore  above  Time's  clouded  strand: 
See  in  all  loss,  all  wrong,  all  accident. 
A  loving  Father's  hand. ' 
And  seeing,  be  content. 


PEBBLES. 

ALONG  the  sea  lies  Summer's  purple  sheen; 

The  drowsy  waves  low  lapse,  with  fond  caress. 
On  amber  sands;  in  fading  light  serene. 

All  purposeless 

I  wander  where  wide  leagues  of  vernal  green 
And  blue  seas  loving  kiss. 

Beneath  my  feet  uncounted  pebbles  gride, 

Strewn  with  unstinted  hand  on  all  the  shore; 
Some  mighty  Titan,  rising  from  the  tide, 

Them  hither  bore 

Up  from  earth's  hidden  workshop  caverns  wide  — 
Up  from  her  granite  floor. 

Sandstone  and  flint  from  many  a  rocky  trave, 

Chips  from  the  walls  of  dark  Devonian  keeps; 
All  glomerates  from  caves  where  Ocean's  wave 

Untroubled  sleeps; 

Schist,  schale,  and  limestone,  from  the  flags  that  pave 
The  old  Silurian  deeps. 


36  PEBBLES. 

Hornblende  and  mica  from  the  tidal  locks 

Down  to  whose  depths  110  plummet  line  may  go; 
Porphyry  and  feldspar  from  earth's  primal  rocks 

Here  pale  and  glow; 

Gneiss  and  basalt  from  the  unquarried  blocks 
Of  her  foundations  low. 

Quartz,  trap,  and  slate,  from  many  a  dyke  and  turn 

Deep  in  the  cosmic  mines;  unsoiled  of  fame, 
Agate  and  jasper  from  each  billowy  urn 

With  rocks  that  came 

Up  from  the  vaults  where  ever  seethe  and  burn 
Red  seas  of  quenchless  flame. 

God's  alphabet,  could  we  interpret  it 

Aright,  are  ye ;  ye  are  —  entraced  as  if 
In  monograph,  in  bits  of  mountain  grit 

And  rocky  cliff— 

Creation's  book,  in  mystic  cypher  writ, 
In  Nature's  hieroglyph. 

Could  we  but  read  its  vast  similitudes, 

The  wisdom  of  its  ancient  pages  con, 
Life's  morning  hymn  through  all  its  interludes 

Still  sounding  on, 

How  might  we  hear — see,  where  but  darkness  broods. 
Light  of  a  higher  sun ! 


PEBBT.ES.  6  ( 

To  mighty  secrets  ye  do  hold  the  key; 

Could  ye  but  tell  by  what  convulsions  torn, 
All  ye  have  seen  of  change  while  ages  flee 

And  worlds  are  born, 

Here  chafed  and  washed  by  the  incessant  sea, 
To  forms  of  beauty  worn. 

Oh  for  the  gift,  the  lore  to  understand! 

Yet  what  am  I  ?  —  through  elemental  strife 
Upborne  as  ye  —  up  from  what  hidden  land 

With  wonder  rife? 

A  pebble,  thrown  upon  life's  stormy  strand, 
Broke  from  the  Prime  of  Life. 

But  ye  are  mute,  howbeit,  mute  to  me; 

Though  all  too  long  I  vain  your  silence  mourn. 
Hear  but  the  homeless  moaning  of  the  sea 

On  shores  forlorn, 

Or  vaguely  dream  of  beauty  yet  to  be 
In  some  untravelled  bourn: 

Enough  to  know,  around  me  not  in  vain 

The  troubled  tides  of  Being  darkly  press: 
Grief,  care.  want,  hope  deferred,  love's  ache  and  strain, 

The  passions'  stress: 

So  grows  the  soul  immortal,  wrought  through  pain 
Into  all  comeliness. 


FOREST    HAUNTS. 

YE  OLDEN  oaks,  deep  clad  in  greenness  vernal, 
With  Summer's  sunlight  on  your  rugged  brows. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  voice  of  the  Eternal 
Go  out  amid  the  swaying  of  your  houghs. 


Oh,  not  the  mythic  fear -inspiring  Monarch 

That  but  with  dread  our  doubting  thoughts  invest. 

But  He  who  bears  above  Wrong's  throned  Anarch 
Earth's  sorrowing  children  on  his  loving  breast. 

And  oft  unto  your  solemn  shades  retiring 
Of  temple,  altar,  shrine,  my  heart  to  him 

Has  poured  the  burden  of  its  high  aspiring 

In  measured  cadence  through  your  cloisters  dim. 

As  wayward  child,  touched  by  some  anguished  arrow 
From  the  full  quiver  of  the  coming  years, 

On  mother's  breast  unbosoms  wild  its  sorrow, 
While  loving  kisses  dry  the  brimming  tears; 


FOREST    HAUNTS.  39 


So  turn  I.  yearning  for  your  dear  caressing; 

World  -  worn  and  weary  do  I  come  again 
To  win  some  measure  of  maternal  blessing. 

If  but  a  brief  forgetfulness  of  pain. 

From  Life's  fierce  conflict,  from  its  toil  unending 
Awhile  to  rest  me  where  no  care  intrudes. 

And  feel  my  soul  in  quickened  pulses  blending 
With  kindred  souls  that  dwell  in  solitudes: 


To  lowly  listen  to  the  mystic  voices 

That  through  your  boundless  sanctuaries  ring. 
And  feel,  while  Nature  in  her  heart  rejoices, 

Some  thrill  of  rapture  in  my  own  upspring. 

The  mossy  bank  wears  meek  a  smile  of  blessing; 

There  lives  a  gladness  in  each  floral  bell. 
A  spirit -healing  in  the  mild  caressing 

Of  balm}'  zephyrs  in  the  woodland  dell. 


And  hark !  a  thousand  tiny  throats  are  winging 
Joy's  silvery  songs  amid  the  murmuring  trees; 

0  happy  choir!  a  choral  anthem  singing  - 
The  blended  music  of  the  birds  and  bees. 


41)  h'OKEHT    HAUNTS. 

'Fhese  shall  restore  me  to  the  pure  and  tender 
Of  feelings  sullied  in  embittered  strife; 

Some  faint  ray  kindle  of  Hope's  morning  splendor, 
That  shed  a  halo  on  each  dream  of  life. 


0  gentle  Spirit  that  afar  is  hiding 

In  unfrequented  wilds  of  wood  and  glen, 
Couldst  thou  as  in  these  tranquil  haunts  abiding 
Dwell  in  the  homes  and  in  the  hearts  of  men, 

1  had  not  need  to  medicine  this  longing 
With  calm  and  quiet  in  }*our  green  retreat : 

Life  s  stony  paths,  with  weary  pilgrims  thronging. 
Were  fair  and  flowery  to  these  bleeding  feet. 


CHICKADEE. 


WHAT  time  the  Oriole 
Through  verdured  haunts  by  spicy  breezes  fanned 

Pours  his  full  soul, 
Far  off  in  tropic  land, 

In  wildest  minstrelsy, — 
If  not  so  glad  and  gay, 
Here  in  December  woods,  as  blithe  and  free, 
1  hear  thy  gleeful  note  the  livelong  day  — 
My  Chickadee! 


Is  all  this  storm  and  gloam 
Of  Winter  vain  to  chill  thy  heart  of  song? 

Dost  never  roam 
With  the  proud  minstrel  throng 

To  climes  beyond  the  sea? 
\Y  hat  secret  dost  thou  hold  ? 
Is  in  thy  breast  the  wondrous  alchemy, 

Transmuting  all  these  leaden  skies  to  gold 
My  Chickadee? 


42  CHICKADEE. 

Oh,  for  the  subtle  art 
To  share  thy  life,  unsoiled  of  strife  and  din; 

A  life  apart 
We  may  not  enter  in  — 

A  realm  of  mystery! 
Yet,  though  we  may  not  cross 
Its  hidden  bound,  we  feel  it  cannot  be 

A  vreary  world  of  ill  and  pain  and  loss  — 
My  Chickadee! 

Within  thine  eye  so  bright 
No  shadow  lies  of  care  or  want  or  dread: 

There  shines  a  light 
More  than  of  summers  dead 

Or  summers  yet  to  be: 
Like  to  the  morning  glow 
On  Eden  hills  serene;  —  say,  canst  thou  see 

The  fairer  world  behind  this  fading  show  — 
My  Chickadee? 

Is  thine  the  vision  rare 
To  pierce  the  gloom  that  hides  the  heavenly  bourn 

Where  all  is  fair? 
The  hidden  land  we  mourn 

Unsorrowed  dost  than  see? 


CHICKADEE.  43 

Then  at  thy  cheerful  stave 
I  marvel  not,  indeed,  nor  how  it  be 

Thy  tiny  breast  can  bear  a  heart  so  brave  — 
My  Chickadee! 

Oh,  what  a  joyous  song 
Above  this  gloom  and  darkness  would  I  pour  — 

How  free  and  strong 
This  weary  heart  would  soar, 

That  Morning  Land  to  see! 
Where  blight  and  storm  and  frost 
And  grief  and  pain  and  parting  may  not  be; 
Where  glorified  do  wait  our  loved  and  lost  — 
My  Chickadee! 

Sole  friend  the  Summer  hides 
That  does  not  flee  when  summer  hours  are  fled ; 

That  still  abides 
When  vernal  blooms  are  dead 

O'er  hill  and  vale  and  lea; 
Oh,  when  the  roundelays 
Of  rarer  throats  are  hushed,  still  keep  for  me 

Some  breath  of  song  to  cheer  life's  darker  days 
Mv 


WHIPPOORWTLL. 

0  LONELY  Night-bird  from  across  the  main. 
That  oft  hath  soothed  me  with  a  plaintive  hymn ! 

Once  more  the  music  of  thy  sad  refrain 

Wakes  the  deep  cloisters  of  the  greenwood  dim; 

From  out  the  twilight's  still  repose  I  hear 
Lorn  Echo  answering  to  thy  sober  song,  — 

A  note,  though  mournful,  to  my  heart  moi'e  dear 
Than  gayer  numbers  of  the  minstrel  throng. 

Oft  when  the  piping  of  thy  ceaseless  plaint 
Rings  out  at  even  from  the  dusky  wild, 

Outsoaring  all,  time,  tears,  and  sorrow -taint. 
I  roam,  a  happy  simple-hearted  child; 

1  lightly  wander  on  the  hills  away, 

Or  careless  loiter  by  the  meadow  streams. 
To  pluck  sweet  garlands  from  the  blushing  May,  — 
The  hours  all  golden  with  enchanted  dreams. 


WHIPPOOBWILL.  45 

T  hear  once  more  the  voices  of  my  youth. 

The  mystic  voices  that  have  long  been  hushed; 
I  dream  again  the  dreams  of  love  and  truth. 

Again  am  happy  in  all  hope  and  trust: 
Oh,  still  as  glad  as  in  the  vanished  Spring 

My  heart  would  tremble  to  some  olden  thrill. 
If  tliou  wouldst  sing  me  as  thou  erst  didst  sing 

Thy  mournful  vesper  by  my  window-sill. 

Why  dost  thou  linger  in  the  far-off  land 

When  the  gay  songsters  of  the  wood  are  here? 
What  leafy  bowers  by  Spring's  warm  zephyrs  fanned 

Make  but  a  long  glad  Summer  of  thy  year? 
Dost  seek  green  haunts  where  shadows  of  the  palm 

Shut  ever  out  the  noontide's  fiercer  reign. 
Mid  spicy  groves  all  prodigal  of  balm 

That  breathe  a  fragrance  on  the  Indian  Main? 

Oh.  could  I  journey  with  thy  pinions  fleet  — 

Swift  wing  with  thee  to  far-off  Southern  Isles! 
From  saddened  memories  free,  what  joy  to  greet 

Each  scene  of  beauty  that  thy  wing  beguiles; 
There  might  I  find  hid  in  the  wild  afar 

Some  spot  untrodden  by  the  feet  of  Care; 
Where  Love  miglit  linger  \vith  no  ill  to  mar. 

No  grief  to  darken,  and  no  wrong  to  bear. 


SEA-SHELLS. 


0  jm'ELLERS  in  the  deeps. 
Up  from  the  caves  of  Ocean  hither  borne! 

Like  to  the  soul  that  keeps 
Forevermore,  though  in  a  realm  forlorn. 

All  memories 

Of  fore-known  love  and  joy  —  ye  sigh  and  mourn 
And  wail  for  the  unfathomable  seas. 


I  low  mine  ear  incline: 
Within  your  convolutions  sway  and  swash 

All  voices  of  the  brine; 
L  hear  on  barren  reefs  the  surges  dash. 

The  breakers  roar; 

The  homeless  billows  fret  and  foam  and  wash. 
And  die  far  off  upon  an  alien  shore. 


SEA-SHELLS.  47 


And  ye  do  more  complain. 
When  angry  tides  with  Wintry  tempests  toss, 

Of  ill  and  wrong  and  pain; 
Like  heart  new  sorrowed  at  some  olden,  loss, 

Ye  moan  and  sigh 
As  ye  were  sore  a  wounded  albatross, 

Or  ye  would  feign  the  stormy  petrel's  cry. 


From  archipelagoes 
That  lave  the  sands  of  Indra,  and  the  isles 

Of  palm,  where  nightly  glows 
The  sea  with  a  translucent  splendor  —  smiles 

In  flash  and  foam 

On  shores  Australian  —  over  all  the  miles 
To  ve  come  visions  of  a  long -lost  home: 


Telling  of  all  things  fair  — 
Of  beauty  blooming  in  the  depths  below; 

Of  coral  gardens  rare 
Where  sea -bells,  sea -pinks,  and  sea -roses  blow 

Where  twinkle  fine 

The  lamp  -  auricules ;  where  sea  -  pens  glow, 
And  sea  -  anemones  and  star -fish  shine. 


48  fiE A -SHELLS. 


Where  to  the  floor  of  rock 
The  limpet  clings;  where  periwinkles  hide 

From  the  rude  billows'  shock: 
Where  pearly  nautilus  from  prow  of  pride 

Strikes  his  frail  oars, 
Or  argonaut  gay  sails  the  tranquil  tide, 

Or  far  below  his  painted  shallop  moors. 


Down  where  the  diver  bold 
Takes  his  lone  way,  all  gems  of  ocean  are: 

What  marvels  yet  untold !  — 
Cones,  wattles,  volutes,  helmets,  nerites.  —  rare 

Wonders  of  God's 
Sea  -  world !  —  harps,  tiaras,  ear  -  shells  fair. 

With  all  your  kindred  of  the  caverned  floods. 


There  in  your  home  with  these 
Again  to  be.  ye  grieve  incessantly ; 

What  deathless  sympathies. 
Outreaching  mortal  pain!  — what  subtle  tie. 

Unsundered,  though 

The  springs  that  feed  the  briny  wells  go  dry. 
And  mountains  flee,  and  suns  wax  pale  and 

* 


SEA  -  SHELLS.  49 


Though  uninterpreted, 
What  tongue  of  prophecy,  what  mystic  tone. 

What  voice  as  from  the  dead; 
What  intimation  of  a  world  unknown  — 

A  rarer  sphere 

Transcending  all  —  the  still  uncharted  zone 
That  vain  we  seek,  so  far  and  yet  so  near! 


Though  all  things  fade  apace. 
Do  fade  and  fall,  they  pass  not  utterly; 

Within  your  jasper  vase 
There  lingers  still  a  tone,  a  mystery,-- 

A  something  hides 
Of  glory  fled,  of  love  that  cannot  die: 

All  Life  that  ever  was  somewhere  abides. 


0  weary  waiting  soul ! 
Thou  art  not  in  thy  loneliness  alone; 

Wherever  billows  roll. 
Or  sunlight  falls,  or  pilgrim  night -winds  moan 

On  desert  sand, 

iSome  spirit  wanders,  yearning  for  its  own. 
And  unforgotten  far-off  Fatherland. 


50  SEA  -  SHELLS. 


0  exiled  from  the  sea. 
That  homesick  wander  from  your  kin  and  clime ! 

What  am  I  more  than  ye? 
Like  ye,  Life's  foregone  heritage  sublime 

I  wait  and  weep: 

A  polyp,  fainting  on  the  shores  of  Time. 
Vain  longing  for  the  illimitable  deep. 


PHEBE. 


LAST  MORN,  while  wrapped  in  dreamy  doze. 
There  came  —  or  so  it  seemed  to  me  — 
The  once  familiar  voice  and  free 
Of  one  L  may  no  longer  see; 

Yet  ere  I  might,  as  glad  I  rose. 

With  greetings  tit.  my  door  unclose. 

Came  answer  from  the  porch,  uPhe-be.' 


As  wakes  some  long  -  forgotten  word 

Far  heard  in  childhood's  Eden  clime. 
Or  softly  pealing  Sabbath  -  chime 
That  makes  the  parted  years  sublime, 
Though  but  by  inmost  spirit  heard, 
So  canie  thy  note,  thou  lowly  bird, 
Across  the  barren  moors  of  Time. 


52  PHEBE. 


Companion  dear  of  Summers  dead. 

Spring's  earliest  herald,  winged  and  fleet: 
Though  not  the  friend  T  yearned  to  greet, 
No  less  I  give  thee  welcome  meet, 

Nor  mourn  the  fairer  vision  fled; 

For  of  these  lesser  joys  is  fed 

The  hope  that  waits  a  joy  complete. 


Thanks  that  my  weaker  care  is  chid; 

In  blithesome  scorn  of  sleet  and  snow 
[  had  not  thought  to  meet  thee  so, 
Before  the  April  violets  blow: 

But  good  and  ill  alike  are  hid: 

Our  happiness  comes  all  unbid. 

And  takes  unchartered  wings  to  go. 


What  compass  guides  thy  airy  quest 

Far  over  seas  that  storm  and  gloam  ? 

What  longings  prompt  thy  wing  to  roam? 

What  yearnings  to  thy  bosom  come 
To  seek  the  dear  remembered  nest  ? 
What  heart  is  in  that  tiny  breast. 

So  human  in  its  love  of  home-' 


PHERK.  63 


( )h  sing,  oh  sing  me  once  again 

Thy  homely  ''Phe-bev  tenderly; 
Nor  let  thy  note,  erst  warbled  free. 
Less  joyous  wake,  that  unto  me 
It  bears  an  undertone  of  pain  — 
A  vanished  Winter's  sad  refrain 

Blent  with  the  Summer's  minstrels}-. 


Soon  shall  thy  lays,  as  oft  of  old, 

Sweet  lullabies  in  matron  tongue 
To  dewy  morns  be  softly  sung; 
With  fragrance  -  laden  roses  hung, 

Thy  old-time  nest,  now  hushed  and  cold. 

Shall  new  love's  priceless  treasures  hold  — 
He  clamorous  with  thy  callow  young. 


Oh  for  thy  free  unsorrowed  wing 

To  ilee  these  wintry  haunts  of  pain! 
Alas,  it  were  but  journeying  vain: 
No  Summers  from  the  spicy  main 
..lay  t:>  our  fainting  spirits  bring 
/he  breath  of  unforgotten  Spring  — 
Our  broken  households  build  again. 


KATYDID. 


ERE  the  sumachs  crimson  turning 
Or  the  upland  maples  burning 

Show  a  faintest  tint  of  red; 
While  the  primrose  still  is  glowing 
And  the  faded  paiisies  sowing 
Seed  for  other  seasons1  blowing, 

Wakes  thy  piping,  Katydid. 


Through  the  dusky  twilight  falling 
Do  I  hear  thee  lonesome  calling, 

In  thy  grassy  covert  hid; 
Of  the  minstrels  of  the  Summer 
Droning,  dolorous,  latest  comer, 
Autumn 's  curliest  herald -drummer 

Art  thou,  mournful  Katydid. 


KATYDTD.  55 


Sadly  fulls  thy  ceaseless  sighing 
On  the  heart  where  hope  is  dying, 

On  the  heart  where  love  is  dead; 
Like  an  endless  wail  of  sorrow, 
Plaint  of  grief  that  may  not  borrow 
Solace  from  the  coming  morrow- 
Solemn  -  trilling  Katydid. 


Ever  till  onr  life  be  ended, 
With  the  higher  life  inblended, 

From  all  darkened  memories  hid, 
But  to  hear  thy  harp  at  even, 
As  in  days  to  sorrow  given 
Shall  our  hearts  be  newly  riven; 
Still  to  mind  us,  Katydid. 


Of  the  watching,  wan  and  weary, 
Through  the  long  hours  sad  and  dreary. 

Tearful  eye  and  sleepless  lid; 
Watching  orbs  beloved,  failing- 
Like  the  Star  of  Morning,  paling, 
Listening  dear  lips'  fevered  wailing, 

And  thy  moaning.  Katydid. 


56  KATYDID. 


Watching  by  the  darkened  river, 
Slowly  ebbing,  ebbing  ever, 

Through  the  midnight  dim  and  dread, 
Feet  of  loved  ones,  fair  as  fleeting, 
From  the  shores  of  Time  retreating, 
Harkening  to  our  own  heart -beating, 

And  thy  joyless  "Katydid." 


Weary,  woful,  prayerful,  tearful, 
Waiting  sad  the  moment  fearful  — 

Knowing  our  beloved  dead; 
In  Death's  awful  shadow  lying, 
Reft,  despairing,  anguished,  dying,— 
Oh,  how  cheerless  conies  thy  sighing 
To  the  love-lorn,  Katydid! 


Me  —  alas !  the  song  ye  sing  me 

Doth  such  mournful  memories  bring  me 

Of  the  days  to  sorrow  wed, 
Olden  loss  doth  new  bereave  me, 
Olden  griefs  new  deeply  grieve  me; 
Hush  thy  requiem -chant,  and  leave  me 

Unto  Silence,  Katydid. 


To  GREET  the  rising  day 

The  waiting  sea  puts  all  her  glory  on: 
The  slow  departing  shadows,  dim  and  gray, 

More  pale  and  wan, 

Far  to  their  gloomy  caverns  hurrying  flee; 
As  thousand  tongues  in  voiceless  melody 

Sing  "Hail  thou  morning  sun!'1 


Porphyry,  amethyst. 

Jasper  and  ruby  in  one  brightness  blent. 
Gay  banners  paint  for  Nature's  royalest 

Hierophant; 

The  weary  winds  a  little  space  do  rest, 
While  faint  and  far  pulses  the  billows'  breast- 

Throbbing  in  deep  content. 


SUNKISE  BY  THE  SKA. 


Out  of  the  shining  wave, 

Slo\v  mounting  thence,  robed  in  empurpled  gold, 
Comes  forth  the  King  of  Day  —  lingers  to  lave 

That  brow  so  old 

And  yet  so  young,  in  the  translucent  tide; 
Lingers  like  bridegroom  by  the  willing  bride, 

When  loving  arms  enfold. 


Yet  why  so  late  to  flee? 

Some  message  for  the  loved  ones  far  below-' 
Some  parting  kiss  for  one  we  niH}r  not  see? 

Bright  rising,  lo! 

Up  from  the  deep,  robed  in  immortal  charms, 
A  rarer  orb,  clasped  in  thy  mighty  arms, 

As  loth  to  let  thee  go. 


Forgetting  love's  disguise 

In  love's  entrance,  0  lord  of  Potentates ! 
Low  011  the  tide  that  peerless  crescent  lies: 

Than  on  thee  waits 

A  fairer  queen  and  consort  may  not  be.  — 
Fairer  than  Venus  rising  from  the  sea. 

Parting  the  pearly  gates. 


SUNR1SK   HY   THE  SEA.  59 


"One  moment  more  !"  —  and  still 

"One  moment  more,  oh  yet  my  love  delay! 
I  hear,  or  so  meseems: —  oh  for  the  thrill. 

The  rapture  —  aye 

The  full  impassioned  madness  of  that  hlitss 
That  never,  far  -  uprising,  shalt  thou  miss, 

Climbing  the  hills  of  Day! 


*'  One  moment  more ! "  —  ah  me ! 

How  vain  to  paint  love's  pare  ecstatic  glow 
Supern,  that  only  the  immortals  see  — 

That  mortals  know 
As  the  lorn  beggar  riches;  as  lost  soul 
Knows  heavenly  peace,  that  hears  despairing  toll 

"Down  to  the  depths  below!" 


"  Oh,  still  one  moment  more!" 

Yet  while  I  list,  loosed  are  the  arms  that  twine; 
The  vision  fades,  as  through  some  open  door 

A  face  divine 

Looks  on  us  and  is  gone;  —  the  sun  straightway 
Climbs  high  the  regal  heavens,  and  leads  the  day 

With  a  serener  shine. 


60  SUNRISE  BY  THE  SEA. 


And  higher  still,  and  higher; 

Still  unto  heights  all  meaner  heights  above, 
Let  evermore  thy  kindling  feet  aspire, 

Thou  mighty  Jove! 
A  mightier  than  he  of  mythic  fame, 
Swift  bearing  wide  the  torch  and  oriflamme 

Of  an  undying  love.    • 


Down  in  the  purple  deep 

How  unto  one  the  long  liours  lightly  wing, 
Who  there  for  thee  love's  tryst  doth  nightly  keep; 

Oh,  who  may  bring 

Up  thence  some  hint  of  her  transcendent  bliss, 
As  brooding  glad  that  last  embrace  and  kiss 

Of  thee,  her  lord  and  king?- 


Thou  that  dost  make  the  day, 

If  at  love's  threshold  dear  thou  stoop  st  to  claim 
One  parting  kiss,  though  long  thy  steps  delay, 

I  may  not  blame; 

Nor  will  I  doubt  thy  fires  eternal  burn, 
Now  that  my  eyes  have  seen  the  hidden  urn 

Of  all  their  quenchless  flame. 


SUNRISE  BY  THE  SEA.  61 


Still  onward  speed  apace ! 

I  may  not  marvel  more,  0  mighty  sun, 
Thou  never  tir'st — -.wading  the  deeps  of  space 

Till  day  is  done; 

Remembering  so  the  fairer  orb  that  waits 
To  greet  thee  at  the  bright  Hesperian  Gates, 

When  thy  far  race  is  run. 


NOTE. —  The  preceding  poem  was  suggested  by  a  phenomenon  — as  rare  as 
it  is  remarkable —  witnessed  by  the  writer  in  1871,  upon  the  shore  of  Lake 
Michigan;  when  by  some  mirage  or  optical  illusion,  the- sun,  as  it  rose  from 
the  lake,  appeared  attended  by  a  consort  or  duplicate  orb. 


THE    H^PPY    VALLEY. 


The  World  we  behold  is  the  Shadow  of  Life; 
All  things  are  of  Being  the  outirard  impress; 

,sV/x  a  Sphinx  Ity  each  path  that  ire  tread ; 
If  Ufa  a  true  Sibyl  one  riddle  //•<•  f/m-xx, 
Still  erer  within,  with  the  Infinite  rife, 
Ift  there  hidden  n  KIT  ret  unread. 

t 

And  meaning  the  inmost  —  the  truest  mat/  lie 

To  the  mind  and  the  heart  —  if  outirardly  n-rougtn 
Is  of  Truth  hut  a  sjtcctrr  mid  n-raith ; 

The  type  can  hut  symbol  the  in/io/riin/  fixing  lit ; 
Each  soul,  as  it  needs,  to  Its  oini  finds  thr  /,v •//  — 
And  true  Lore  is  the  key  to  fnif  Faith. 


THE    HAPPY    VALLEY. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

EEEWHILE  when  these  hills  that  slope  gentle  and  fail- 
Were  mountains  so  high  they  seemed  lightly  to  bear 

The  sky  in  their  rocky  embrace; 
When  all  the  year  long  in  its  beaut}'  unrolled 
The  meadow  its  green,  wore  the  harvest  its  gold, 

The  Summer  its  glory  and  grace; 

Then  eyes  they  were  clear,  for  the  world  it  was  new, 
And  ever  the  marvellous  stories  were  true 

That  cannot  be  wholly  forgot; 

Then  silver  and  gold,  though  they  never  were  found 
In  treasures  uncounted  were  hid  in  the  ground, 

And  dragons  watched  over  the  spot. 

In  river  and  wood  dwelt  sylphs,  naiads,  and  fays, 
Were  everywhere  seen  in  those  wonderful  days  — 

Though  tied  is  the  Faery  race; 
And  who  in  this  world  is  so  spotless  and  good 
To  blame  the  sweet  tenants  of  river  and  wood 

For  hiding:  each  beautiful  face? 


fit)  T1IK    HAPPY   VALLEY. 

At  eve,  all  the  far- lapsing  billows  along 
The  mermaiden  sang,  and  so  charmed  a  song 

That  hushed  was  each  murmuring  wave; 
And  who  harkened  that  dangerous  minstrelsy 
Went  with  her,  alas!  to  her  home  in  the  sea — 

To  her  home  in  a  coral  cave. 

Then  every  maid  Avas  a  shepherdess  bold, 
Yet  gentle  as  was  gentlest. lamb  in  her  fold; 

So  learned  in  Love's  magical  art 
She  could  marry  a  prince  whenever  she  would. 
With  a  boundless  estate,  and  noble  and  good. 

And  reign  a  proud  queen  of  the  heart. 

In  those  marvellous  days  that  all  wonder  enfold. 
Bright  days  that  illumine  each  legend  of  old 

As  sundown  the  westering  main. 

Far  on  the  blue  seas  loomed  with  wave -warded  strand 
A  mountain  -  girt,  summer- clad,  love- guarded  land. 

[Tndarkened  of  discord  and  pain. 

Though  where  may  be  hidden  the  Beautiful  Vale 
Where  care  is  unknown,  where  no  sorrows  assail,  — 

If  isled  on  wide  oceans  afar, 
i  know  not ;  —  perchance  it  lies  under  the  sea 
Twice  ten  thousand  fathoms:  —  though  still  it  may  be 

Where  gates  of  the  Morning  unbar. 


THE    HAI'I'Y    VALLHY.  67 

Howbeit  —  though  shut  from  the  wide  world  apart. 
There  prodigal  Nature  with  kindliest  art 

Her  gifts  in  such  affluence  poured. 
That  looking  auear  on  each  scene  of  delight 
You  had  thought  it  an  Eden  unsorrowed  of  blight 

Or  to  its  lost  beauty  restored. 

The  hillside  was  gay  with  the  citron  and  clove, 
The  olive  tree  grew  with  the  fig  in  the  grove, 

The  orange  o'erburdened  with  scent; 
The  evening -born  zephyr  winged  faint  with  perfume, 
The  orchard  boughs  reddened,  adight  with  new  bloom, 

As  low  with  ripe  fruitage  they  bent. 

By  emerald  sands,  amid  islands  of  calm. 

Its  shimmering  track  overshadowed  with  palm, 

A  river  meandering  went; 

Went  limpid  and  clear  through  the  meadows  along, 
Went  dallying,  singing  a  lullaby  song  — 

A  murmur  and  song  of  content. 

Free  wandered  the  flocks,  with  their  fleeces  of  snow 
As  white  as  the  storm -girded  Winter  might  show 

Aloft  in  his  silvery  tent, 

To  new -springing  pastures  so  luscious  and  green, 
Or  gaily  anon  might  be  frolicking  seen 

As  on  to  the  mountains  they  went. 


68  THE  HAPPY  VA.LLEY. 

Thence  sweetly  their  bleating  like  music  would  tall. 
As  homeward  they  came  at  each  shepherdess'  call. 

When  twilight  its  shadows  had  cast; 
Where  yielding  their  milk  -  bearing  udders,  they  lent 
The  joy -waiting  cottager's  home  of  content 

The  evening's  delicious  repast. 

Where  hearts  all  untainted  of  passion  and  strife 
Grrew  guilelessly  up  in  love's  summering  life. 

That  brightened  from  portal  to  roof 
Each  sylvan  -  wrought  home,  unadorned  and  plain. 
From  pleasures  that  leave  in  the  bosom  a  stain 

And  vainer  illusions  aloof. 

Whence  forth  at  the  morn,  ever  joyous  and  gay, 
Went  maidens  and  youths  to  the  harvest  away 

Where  golden  it  gleamed  in  the  sun; 
Or  charmed  the  glad  twilight  with  love -breathing  lutt 
Or  lingered  to  dance  to  the  tymbal  and  flute. 

When  the  day  with  its  labors  was  done. 

May  love  so  illumine  the  homeliest  cot, 

So  charmed  with  content  be  the  lowliest  lot. 

That  sorrow  may  never  assail? 
And  was  the  true  secret  of  happiness  known  — 
Lost  secret,  alas!  —  to  that  people  alone 

Who  dwelt  in  the  Beautiful  Vale? 


THE   HAPPY   VALLEY.  69 

I  know  not:     Lost  Land,  on  far  tropical  sea 
Haply  shining  serene,  if  only  in  thee, 

Still  lit  with  affections  unchanged, 
Are  thresholds  so  bright  that  no  shadows  may  cross. 
Are  hearthstones  undarkened  with  anguish  and  loss  — 

Where  lovers  are  never  estranged. 

And  well  you  had  doubted,  one  home  to  have  seen, 
Where  joy  ever  wore  its  perennial  green, 

If  Heaven  has  happier  ones; 
So  rich  without  pride,  without  envy  or  blame. 
So  rich  in  the  truest  wealth  woman  may  claim  — 

The  treasure  of  beautiful  sons. 

Nor  alone  in  the  sunlight  of  motherly  eyes: 
For  maidens,  though  hooded  in  maiden  disguise, 

Looked  on  them  with  partialest  joy; 
On  Jehan  the  husbandman  valiant  and  bold, 
On  Clarence  the  dreamer,  that  tended  the  fold. 

And  Reuben  the  studious  boy. 

So  tranquil  the  skies  were  that  over  them  bent. 
They  nigh  unto  manhood  had  journeyed  content. 

Nor  tasted  of  pleasures  unmeet; 
Still  slumbered  desire  in  each  peace  .-tented  breast  — 
Desire  that  might  waken  the  wish  and  unrest 

To  stray  from  that  charmed  retreat. 


70  THE   HAPPY    V ALLEY. 

That  world  all  unknown  —  was  it  sombre  and  dread, 
That  wide  from  that  rock  -  builded  barrier  spread. 

Or  sunny  and  mossy  and  green, 
With  mountains  and  valleys,  and  peopled  with  men? 
None  ever  had  passed,  thence  returning  again, 

To  tell  of  each  wonderful  scene. 

A  perilous  way  to  him  journeying  there; 

For  lo !  by  the  path  that  his  footsteps  must  dare, 

A  cleft  where  a  mountain  had  stood, 
A  fiery  Dragon,  by  night  and  by  day, 
A  fiery  Dragon  stood  guarding  the  way  — 

Stood  belching  a  fiery  flood. 

And  he  that  would  venture  that  Valley  beyond 
Must  a  talisman  bear  —  a  magical  wand 

The  truly  wise  only  ma}T  gain; 
While  he  that  would  pass,  said  a  prophet  of  old. 
Unlearned  in  the  secret,  though  fearless  and  bold. 

Would  sure  by  that  Dragon  be  slain. 

And  why  should  there  come  to  the  dream-haunted  heart 
The  wish  from  that  beautiful  home  to  depart. 

Untroubled  of  sorrow  or  care? 

And  where  in  the  wide  world  without  and  unknown 
Were  youths  that  to  manlier  stature  had  grown. 

Or  maidens  more  gentle  and  fair? 


THE    HAPPY   VALLEY.  71 

Yet  had  we  the  wings  that  could  cleave  the  broad  blue, 
The  pinions  of  Morning,  and  though  it  were  true 

We  dwelt  in  an  Eden  of  bliss, 
How  swift  would  we  climb  the  bright  ether  afar. 
If  only  to  see  if  yon  tiniest  star 

A  world  is,  and  fairer  than  this. 

For  deep  in  the  soul  the  aspiring  abides 

To  question  each  secret  in  Nature  that  hides  — 

Forever  for  knowledge  athirst. 
Not  Heaven  alone  would  it  fearless  explore, 
But  dauntless  would  tread  the  Plutonian  Shore 

And  map  the  dark  regions  accursed. 

Nor  wonder  the  youth,  on  some  star -guided  trail 
Far  wandering  alone  in  that  Beautiful  Vale, 

Might  dream  of  that  magical  wand; 
And  question  if  Cynthia,  just  hidden  from  sight 
By  high  -  beetling  mountains,  the  peerless,  might  light 

A  fairer  world  lying  beyond. 

Nor  alone  in  the  light  that  so  silvery  shone, 

That  far  world  grew  fairer  —  that  far  world  unknown. 

To  Jehan,  the  longer  he  dreamed; 
Till  beauty  anear  had  no  beauty  for  him: 
Noon  s  radiant  sunshine  with  shadows  was  dim; 

The  horizon  narrower  seemed. 


72  THE   HAPPY   VALLEY. 

No  longer  he  led  in  the  dance  of  delight.- 

No  longer  his  lute  charmed  the  listening  night, 

Nor  songs  cheered  the  lingering  day; 
Still  brooded  that  shadow  when  toiling  afield; 
More  darkly  it  deepened  when  midnight  revealed 

That  Dragon  dread  guarding  the  way. 

Still  dreaming,  and  leaving  his  labor  undone, 
Chance  guided,  or  led  by  the  westering  sun, 

.  Or  lured  by  that  fatuous  ray  — 
That  vision  of  beauty  —  0  fatal  unrest!  — 
With  quickening  footsteps  he  eagerly  pressed 
The  path  to  the  mountain  away. 

The  loftiest  peak  that  far  dazzled  and  shone, 
High  lifted  alluring  its  snow -mantled  cone 

O'er  valley  and  river  and  wood; 
Still  toiling  aloft  on  each  intricate  trail, 
While  dim  and  more  dim  shone  the  Beautiful  Vale, 

Upon  the  tall  summit  he  stood. 

When  lo!  from  that  airy  empyrean  height. 
What  realm  of  enchantment  arose  on  his  sight! 

Elysian  fields  glimmer  and  gleam, 
Enshrouding  in  gloom  evermore  to  his  eye 
That  Valley,  close  shut  by  the  mountains  so  high;- 

And  this  was  the  land  of  his  dream ! 


THE    HAPPY   VALLEY.  73 

There  seeming  to  reach  unto  limitless  day, 

A  new  world,  that  broadened  unbounded  away. 

Unto  his  rapt  vision  unrolled; 
Where  palaces  shone,  of  all  pleasures  the  shrine, 
And  gardens  and  fountains  and  statues  divine 

Gray  glittered  with  crystal  and  gold. 

Enrapt  with  the  splendor  and  glory  he  saw, 
He  lingered,  still  gazing  in  wonder  and  awe 

Till  night -mists  enshrouded  the  scene; 
Then  downward  again  through  the  darkness  and  gloam 
Returning,  he  passed  to  his  once  happy  home  — 

Alas,  now  how  homely  and  mean! 

The  mother  who  saw,  with  a  motherly  care, 
Beneath  the  disguises  that  sorrow  would  wear. 

Her  joy -loving  Jehan  was  sad, 
Besought  him,  if  ill  had  befallen  to  know  — 
If  ill  or  misfortune  had  burdened  with  woe 

The  heart  ever  wont  to  be  glad. 

Said  Jehan,  ''Our  home  is  a  prison;  its  ward 
That  Fiery  Dragon,  accursed  and  abhorred; 

On  cottage  and  meadow  and  lea 
Forever  the  gloom  and  the  shadows  do  lie, 
Foreboding  and  dark,  of  the  mountains  so  high; 

And  long  have  I  yearned  to  be  free. 
10 


74  THE    HAPPY    VALLEY. 

"I  climbed  to  their  cloud  -  mantled  summit  to -day 
More  fair  than  I  dreamed  is  that  far  world  away ; 

There  lie,  with  gold -glittering  strand, 
The  Isles  of  Delight,  with  all  splendors  aglow; 
The  home  of  all  pleasures ;  —  to  -  morrow  [  go 

To  dwell  in  that  beautiful  land. 

''A  holiday  life,  a  perpetual  joy, 

No  toiling  to  trouble,  no  want  to  annoy; 

Such  plenty  this  poverty  mocks; 
Such  pleasures  and  riches  we  never  may  guess 
Who  only  the  fruits  of  our  orchards  possess  — 

The  fleeces  and  milk  of  our  flocks." 

()  fatalest  vision  of  beauty!  his  sight. 
If  only  it  were  in  a  dream  of  the  night, 

Beyond  the  horizon  had  flown; 
Already  his  footsteps  were  wandering  free: 
Ere  long,  and  a  palace  of  crystal  should  be 

His  home  in  that  new  world  unknown. 

The  mother  but  sighed,  "All  illusive  and  vain;" 
Yet  felt  in  her  heart  the  foreboding  of  pain 

That  ever  some  .sorrow  betides; 
Nor  hastily  chiding  his  purpose  unwise, 
Bent  tenderly  on  him  love's  pitying  eyes. 

Whose  lid  the  tear  tremblingly  hides; 


THE    HAPPY    VALLEY.  75 

To  soon  overflow  with  its  anguish  and  pain 
For  treasure  the  years  may  not  render  again  — 

For  loss  Time  may  never  requite; 
For  oh !  at  the  dawn,  he,  her  J.ehan,  would  tread 
The  perilous  way  past  that  barrier  dread. 

To  dwell  in  the  Land  of  Delight. 

So  luring  the  vision  that  beckoned  away. 
Unheeded  the  tears  that  besought  him  to  stay  — 

The  mother's  low -murmuring  sigh: 
"Oh.  why  should  I  live  but  this  day  to  behold? 
Ah  me!  that  the  Siren  of  Pleasure  or  Gold 

Should  sever  Love's  beautiful  tie! 

"  Yet  barken  and  know,  if  my  counsels  are  vain: 
None  ever  may  pass  till  that  Dragon  be  slain; 

Say.  have  you  that  talisman  won  ? 
None  ever  may  venture  the  Valley  beyond 
But  he  whose  hand  beareth  that  magical  wand  — 

Remember,  my  son.  ()  my  son!" 

No  answer  he  gave;  but  the  earliest  dawn 

Looked  down  on  that  cottage,  and  .Jehan  was  gone; 

At  sunrise,  more  fierce  than  before. 
That  Dragon,  mad -glaring  and  bloody  the  same. 
Wide  vomited  torrents  of  sulphurous  flame, — 

And  Jehan  was  heard  of  no  more. 


76  THE    HAPPY   VALLEY. 

When  Time  with  soft  healing  a  solace  had  lent, 
The  Mother  glad  smiled  in  her  home  of  content. 

As  one  that  no  sorrow  had  crossed: 
Yet  oft  when  the  day  on  the  mountain  was  dim. 
Her  eye  thence  turned  tearful:  her  thought  was  of  him 

Her  first-born  —  of  Jehan.  the  lost. 

Albeit  the  heart,  every  burden  resigned, 

For  pain  and  bereavement  the  sorest,  shall  find 

A  balm  in  the  medicined  years; 
Yet  oh,  if  for  grief  but  this  comfort  accrue. 
The  swift  -  winging  moments  still  open  anew 

Forever  the  fountain  of  tears. 

And  woe  to  the  widowed!  —  one  grief  overpassed 
Is  only  of  sorrows  one  nearer  the  last; 

New  stricken  with  anguish  untold, 
Her  Clarence  she  saw  by  the  hearth's  paling  light 
Sit  brooding  that  vision,  illusive  as  bright. 

That  lost  her  her  Jehan  of  old. 

A  joy  in  his  labor  no  longer  he  found.  **• 

But  more,  as  the  days  wore  monotonous  round. 

He  pensive  and  silent  became; 

Like  Jehan,  he  climbed  to  that  cloud  -  mantled  height 
Like  Jehan,  he  gazed  on  that  Land  of  Delight, 

With  yearnings  and  longings  the  same. 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY.  11 

He  saw  the  world  broaden  so  boundless  away. 
Where  moved  the  vast  throng  in  their  brilliant  array. 

The  horizon  looming  immense. 
With  billowy  seas  to  his  wondering  view. 
With  lands  still  beyond  in  the  limitless  blue. 

Far  shining  more  luminous  thence. 

The  sunset  had  left  all  the  mountain  aflame. 

As  down  to  the  night  -  glooming  Valley  he  came: 

How  mean  seemed  the  life  he  had  led! 
How  rude  and  unsightly  that  cottage,  his  home  — 
His  home  now  no  longer,  for  he  too  would  roam, 

That  land  of  enchantment  would  tread. 

The  Mother,  Avhose  heart  bore  the  prescient  pain 
Of  sorrow -foreboding,  besought  him  in  vain: 

"What  good  can  my  darling  desire? 
Oh,  what  has  befallen  my  Clarence  to -day  — 
So  wont  to  be  cheerful  and  tuneful  and  gay? 
Why  slumber  his  songs  and  his  lyre?" 

"Pur  Valley  is  small,1'  said  the  youth  in  reply; 
"  The  horizon  narrow,  the  mountains  so  high 

The  shadows  lie  darkly  below; 
That  far  world  away  —  oh  how  peerless  and  grand ! 
My  feet  will  not  rest  from  that  beautiful  land;  — 

To-morrow,  to-morrow  I  go!'' 


78  THE   HAPPY   VALLEY. 

Love  answered  him  weeping:  "  What  more  do  you  know 
Than  he  that  was  lost  in  the  days  long  ago  — 

My  first  -  born,  my  beautiful  son  '•! 
Oh,  why  will  you  venture  the  mountain  to  pass. 
Again  to  o'erwhelm  me  with  sorrow  —  alas! 

Say.  have  you  that  talisman  won?" 

"Yea.  Mother,  for  mine  is  a  worthier  quest." 
Said  Clarence:  "this  burning  desire  in  my  breast 

No  thought  of  mere  pleasure  has  fanned; 
I  go  for  no  purpose  ignoble  and  vain: 
I  bear,  in  the  wish  and  the  longing  to  gain 

All  knowledge,  that  magical  wand." 

Low  bent,  as  thrice  widowed,  the  Mother  again 
Sat  weeping  till  Midnight  looked  in  at  the  pane. 

Sad  harkened  her  sorrowing  wail; 
For  knew  she  how  false,  how  deceitful  the  charm 
Of  knowledge  —  that  knowledge  might  never  disarm 

That  guardian  fierce  of  the  Vale. 

The  eyes  of  the  Morning,  all  tearful  and  red, 
Bent  mournful  on  Reuben,  as  lonely  he  led 

His  flocks  to  their  pastures  so  green: 
More  fierce  and  mad  -  glaring^ftiM  bloody  the  same. 
That  Dragon  stood  belching  wide  torrents  of  flame: 

Arid  Clarence  —  he  never  was  seen. 


THK    HAPPY    VALLEY.  79 

And  in  the  glad  Summers  that  beautiful  wore. 
His  name  in  that  Valley  was  spoken  no  more; 

Or  only,  her  loss  to  bemoan, 
To  Reuben,  the  Mother's  now  only  delight. 
Was  whispered,  and  softly,  as  sadly  at  night 

They  mused  by  the  fireside  alone. 

0  heart  of  the  Mother!  forever  to  bear 
Its  infinite  sorrow  of  love  and  despair! 

Howbeit,  but  darkly  we  know: 
Vet  ever  some  truth  in  Tradition  is  found. 
And  many,  alas!  by  that  Dragon  lie  bound  — 

Uound  fast  in  a  region  of  woe. 

And  oft  when  the  Midnight  shone  angry  and  red, 
Came  sounds  from  afar,  as  of  anguish  and  dread. 

Lamenting  and  sorrowing  vain: 
While  ever  anon,  fearful  borne  on  the  air. 
Came  tumult  of  battle,  the  wail  of  despair, 

The  moaning  of  spirits  in  pain. 

*  *  * 

The  earth  mantles  green  that  the  earthquake  has  rent; 
The  hills  shine  new-verdured  when  Winter  is  spent; 

New  bourgeons  with  sweetness  the  grove;  — 
So  kindles  anew  in  the  d^Jolate  years 
The  day-star  of  Hope,  quenched  in  anguish  and  tears, 

Re -lit  with  the  sunshine  of  Love. 


80  THE    HAPPY    VALLEY. 

The  Mother  erelong,  not  to  sorrow  in  vain. 
Took  up  all  her  love -bearing  burdens  again  — 

Though  widowed,  not  wholly  bereft; 
Though,  telling  of  griefs  for  the  loves  she  had  lost, 
Her  brow  wore  a  circlet  of  silver  and  frost, 

More  joyed  she  in  one  that  was  left. 

And  patient  at  evening,  at  morning,  and  noon, 
Her  spindle  she  plied,  with  its  musical  tune 

Beguiling  the  care  in  her  breast; 
Yet  oft,  when  the  twilight  fell  sober  and  pale, 
Would  tears,  with  sad  memories  burdened,  unveil 

Unbidden,  the  sorrowful  guest. 

And  is  there  an  ever  unmedicined  woe? 
Howbeit  we  know  not;  this  only  we  know: 

When  breaks  on  the  desolate  years 
Some  loss  that  Time  never  may  lighten  again, 
How  dull  seems  the  smart  of  a  sorrow  whose  pain 

May  yield  to  the  solace  of  tears! 

And  what  unto  her,  the  thrice -widowed,  was  lefty 
Alas!  to  that  bosom  so  sorely  bereft 

The  sorrow  of  sorrows  had  come; 
The  last  of  her  treasures  —  her  staff  and  her  joy  — 
Her  Reuben,  her  comfort,  her  studious  boy, 

Sat  joyless  and  dreaming  and  dumb. 


THE    HAPPY    YM.LK\.  91 

()  eyes  of  the  Mother!  what  pleading  and  prayer! 
()  heart  of  the  Mother,  unbroken  to  bear 

Of  love  the  remembered  caress! 
What  bodings  of  ill  all  the  future  bethrong, 
Well  knowing,  dream  -  haunted,  his  footsteps  ere  long 

That  path  of  enchantment  would  press. 

What  marvel  to  him  would  the  morrow  unveil? 
At  dawn  he  had  passed  on  the  mountain -led  trail 

With  light -speeding  footsteps  and  bold; 
On  him  the  bright  world  of  immensity  smiled, 
Whose  glories  illusive  so  fatal  beguiled  — 

Lost  Jehan  and  Clarence  of  old. 

Fair  broadened  the  same  to  his  wondering  sight 
The  boundless  horizon;  the  Land  of  Delight 

In  limitless  splendor  unrolled; 
Where  threshold  and  portal  and  pillar  and  dome 
Of  many  a  palace,  of  pleasure  the  home, 

Gay  glittered  with  crystal  and  gold. 

Rapt  in  wonder  and  awe  a  moment  he  stood, 
Nor  questioned  the  pageant  if  evil  or  good, 
Allured  with  its  shimmer  and  sheen; 
But  gazing  intent,  with  his  sight  clearer  grown, 
In  a  world  that  to  others  so  beautiful  shone 

He  saw  but  a  sorrowful  scene. 

u 


82  THE   HAPPY    VALLEY, 

He  saw  in  that  new  world  so  seemirigty  fair 
No  brow  but  was  dark  with  the  shadow  of  care, 

Though  dwelling  mid  splendors  untold; 
Each  phantom  delight  that  evanishing  rose 
Was  but  the  delirious  frenzy  of  those 

Whose  gods  are  but  pleasure  and  gold. 

Palace,  pillar,  and  dome,  with  their  glitter  and  glow. 
All  things  he  beheld,  were  but  treacherous  show; 

The  gardens  of  beauty  and  bloom 
Bore  only  the  fruit  that  is  bitter  to  taste; 
The  blossoms  —  if  blossoms  there  brightened  the  waste. 

Were  poppies  of  deadly  perfume. 

An  innermost  life  with  true  being  is  wed : 
As  this,  so  the  outward  is,  living  or  dead,  — 

The  living  alone  shall  remain; 
Whatever  of  Truth  or  of  Beauty  there  hides 
In  the  soul,  in  the  world  is  in  which  it  abides; 

All  else  is  illusive  and  vain. 

His  footsteps  delayed  on  the  rock-builded  height. 
Till  loftier  purpose  that  sorrowing  sight 

Awoke  in  his  pitying  breast : 
And  he  too  would  go  —  every  danger  would  dare, 
Might  he  the  true  secret  of  happiness  bear 

Afar  to  that  people  imblest. 


THK    HAPPY    VALLEY.  83 

Grew  stronger  and  deeper  that  worthier  aiui, 

As  downward  he  passed  —  to  the  cottage  he  came. 

To  dream  of  that  magical  wand; 
If  only  by  him  might  the  Dragon  be  slain ! 
Still  deeply  he  pondered  that  vision  of  pain  — 

That  charmed  but  illusory  land. 

The  Mother,  low  bowed  in  new  terror  and  dread. 
Bent  on  him,  as  silent  we  look  on  the  dead; 

For  well,  without  question,  she  guessed 
That  he  too,  her  Reuben,  that  border  would  pass  — 
His  footsteps  the  path  to  the  mountain,  alas! 

That  path  of  enchantment  had  pressed. 

Nor  more  did  she  weep,  for  the  fountain  of  tears 
Within  her  was  dry  with  the  sorrow  of  years; 

Nor  minded  the  pitying  Dawn, 
Though  all  the  long  night  of  her  anguish  was  spent 
Low  moaning,  as  o'er  the  dead  embers  she  bent, 
"Oh  he,  my  last  treasure,  is  gone!" 

Rain  torrents  of  flame  on  his  venturous  head ! 
Make  fiery  the  pathway  he  fearless  must  tread, 

Who  passes  that  Valley  beyond ! 
Weave,  evil -taught  demons,  your  sorcerous  thrall! 
Yet  him,  midst  all  perils,  no  ill  shall  befall, 

If  bearing  that  magical  wand. 


84  THE    HAPPY    VALLEY. 

When  tardy  the  Morning,  and  mournful,  at  last 
Looked  down  o,n  the  Valley,  thence  Reuben  had  passed. 

Had  passed  at  the  earliest  sheen ; 

But  lo!  when  the  D;iy  on  the  mountain  was  bright- 
Had  drowned  all  the  sombering  shadows  with  light. 

That  Dragon  no  longer  was  seen. 

Dim  rising  afar  on  her  tear  -  darkened  view. 

What  wonder  is  there  ?  —  could  her  vision  be  true  ? 

The  Mother  rejoices  again : 
That  Dragon,  that  ever  by  night  and  by  day 
Stood  barring  the  path  to  that  far  world  away. 

That  Dragon  her  Reuben  had  slain ! 

And  still  as  she  gazed,  lo!  what  marvels  unfold? 
What  splendors  break  fair  over  woodland  and  Avoid? 

More  bright,  with  a  lovelier  bloom. 
Earth,  thrilling  ecstatic,  quick  mantles  and  glows; 
Arrayed  in  new  beauty,  each  flower  that  blows 

Is  sweet  with  a  rarer  perfume. 

More  golden  the  harvest  that  billows  the  plain, 
With  sound  of  the  sickle  blends  happier  strain 

That  joyous  the  reapers  prolong: 
The  groves  stand  enrapt,  with  new  blossoms  adight. 
More  tremulous  thrill  with  a  sense  of  delight  — 

Are  vocal  with  happier  song. 


THE    HAPPY    r ALLEY.  85 

All  Nature,  endowed  with  a  tenderer  grace, 
Like  angel  of  mercy,  that  seeks  to  erase 

All  record  of  error  and  blame. 
Glad  kindles  and  quickens  with  beaut}',  until 
Field,  meadow,  and  woodland,  and  valley,  and  hill. 

The  triumph  of  Virtue  proclaim. 


Not  he  that  icould  be  of  all  Riches  possessed, 

Nor  he  that  would  pass  of  all  Knowledge  in  quest, 

Might  venture  that  Valley  beyond; 
He  only  that  xpell  of  enchantment  withstood 
Who  sought  not  his  own,  but  of  others  the  yood: 

Lore — Lore  icax  that  Magical  Wand- 


SONGS    OF   THE    SEASONS. 


\ 

Though  all  things  irith  the  changeful  Seasons  flee, 
A  garland  glorioiis  in  its  odorous  shine 
A  feu*  fleet  sunny  Summer  hours  may  twine, 
To  fade,  then  sjjriiiy  at/a  in 

In  sun  and  shine  — 

Tlic  myriad  lowly  blooms  on  hill  and  plain ; 
While  evermore  the  changeful  Seasons  flee  — 
Forever  onirard  flee. 

The  thoughts  that  light  the  temple  of  the  Soul, 
Tin'  Jiff  t/tnf  bunts  IIJIOH   />*  inner  xJifiiif, 
'The  lore  and  faith  that  from  Its  deptJut  outshine, 
That  Khali  not  all  di'jtinl. 

But  bloom  and  ticine 

In   Winters  as  in  Sit  miner*  of  the  heart; 
These  mark  the  yearn  unto  the  lirini/  Soul  — 
The  ever -living  Soul. 


SPRING    VOICES. 

0  ROSE,  whose  tiiiy  buds  enfold 

The  promise  of  a  perfect  flower; 
0  Tulip,  that  a  precious  dower 

Of  beauty  in  thy  heart  dost  hold; 

0  Lily,  that  a  robe  of  gold 

Art  weaving  for  thy  bridal  hour; 

Ye  Hyacinths,  whose  petals  show 

More  than  the  blue  of  Summer  skies; 
Ye  Paiisies  that  so  fair  arise 

And  smile  011  April's  sleet  and  snow; 

Ye  Violets  that  bashful  show 

The  heaven  that  is  in  loving  eyes; 

And  all  ye  waiting  blooms  that  sleep 
The  sleep  by  rarest  dreams  beguiled; 
Ye  children  of  the  wood  and  wild 

That  watch,  but  do  not  watch  and  \veep;  — 

Oh  for  the  simple  trust  ye  keep! 
Your  saintly  faith,  0  undeh'led! 


90  SPRING    VOICES. 

Though  fierce  the  stormy  tempest  rage, 
Ye  only  hear  the  murmuring 
Of  Summer,  like  the  dreams  that  bring 

The  vision  of  Love's  golden  age; 

And  thrill  to  rapture's  dim  presage, 
The  pulse  and  prophecy  of  Spring. 

Oh  for  your  patient  "  All  is  well;'' 

Though  shrouded  deep  in  gloom  and  night, 
Of  radiant  hours  of  dear  delight 
Your  dimly  -  folded  petals  tell, 
As  wing,  dark  brooding  in  the  shell, 
Foreshows  a  free  aerial  flight. 

0  heart  of  mine!  and  art  thou  less 

Than  flower  the  kindly  soil  inurns? 
The  faithful  sun  to  it  returns  — 

Thy  proper  good  thou  shalt  not  miss; 

More  than  a  paradise  of  bliss 

Lives  in  the  soul  that  loves  and  yearns. 


SEED-TIME. 

OH,  THIS  the  Toiler's  happy  fate: 

He  shall  not  toil  in  vain; 
So,  toiling  early,  toiling  late, 

Till  well  the  gleby  plain; 
Cast  in  the  fruitful  seed  and  wait 

The  sunshine,  dew,  and  rain; 
Though  many  a  morn  shall  come  and  go, 

And  night  succeed  the  day, 
Full -eared  the  ripened  sheaf  shall  glow 

In  Autumn's  halcyon  ray. 

Nor  less,  with  labor  made  sublime 

By  purpose  true  and  strong, 
Sow  all  the  fallow  fields  of  Time 

With  Thought  and  Deed  and  Song; 
And  trust,  from  farthest  land  and  clime, 

The  waiting  heart  erelong 
Shall  gather  in  its  harvest  hoard 

.Of  precious  corn  and  oil, 
And  wine  of  love,  to  brim  the  board  — 

Make  glad  the  after -toil. 


A    SONG    OF    MAY. 

THEEE'S  a  harp  in  the  boughs  of  the  lindens  again. 

Like  the  voices  my  infancy  knew; 
There  are  tiny  throats  trilling  a  joyous  refrain 

To  the  morning  beje welled  with  dew; 
And  the  dear  baby -buds  that  all  beauty  enfold, 

Softly  peep  from  their  covert  to-day; 
Lo!  the  Hyacinth's  purple  and  Daffodil's  gold 

Are  unveiling  the  glory  of  May. 

There  are  Cowslips  bestarring  the  moor -meadow  green, 

Budding  Buttercups  pale  with  surprise; 
Sunny  Dandelions  couched  in  their  velvety  screen 

Are  outlooking  with  wondering  eyes; 
While  the  sweet  -  bringing  bee  in  the  orchard  a -hum 

Vagrant  loiters  the  noon -tide  away, 
Till  the  drone  of  his  piping  with  sweetness  is  dumb 

In  the  bountiful  blossoms  of  May. 


A   SOXG   OF  MAY.  93 

There  are  Violets  dear  that  have  been  with  us  long  — 

Spring's  first  darlings  from  under  the  snow; 
And  the  frailer  Anemones  haply  prolong 

Vanished  April's  ephemeral  show; 
Far  the  Dogwood  is  showering  its  snow  in  the  dells, 

And  the  Hazel  with  tassels  is  gay; 
Softly  rings  the  Azalia  its  silvery  bells 

To  the  rivulet's  murmur  of  May. 

And  the  Tulip  I  see,  in  the  pride  of  her  bloom. — 

She  has  put  on  her  gaudiest  suit 
For  the  Lilac,  outbreathing  a  luscious  perfume 

To  the  Strawberry's  promise  of  fruit; 
High  the  Iris  is  bearing  his  helmet  and  spear — 

Fair  unfolding  his  azuringray; 
While  the  sigh  of  the  slumbering  Roses  [  hear. 

All  impatient  of  lingering  May. 

Yet  how  vain  is  the  charm  of  each  murmurous  lute. 

Vain  the  dower  of  all  beauty,  to  him 
Who  must  mourn  the  sweet  music  of  lips  that  arc  mute 

And  the  sunshine  of  eyes  that  are  dim; 
hi  each  flowering  bell,  through  each  chorister's  throat. 

Sings  the  Summer  a  sorrowing  lay 
To  the  heart  that  still  misses  Love's  rapturing  note 

From  the  merriest  anthems  of  Mav. 


JUNE. 

MONTH  of  Flora!  month  of  roses! 

Bring  again  the  gifts  divine: 
Autumn's  gold  thy  heart  encloses;  — 
In  the  garlands  thou  dost  twine 

Hides  the  heaping  Horn  of  Plenty  —  brims  the  vintage  - 
glowing  wine. 

When  the  dewy  dawn  is  breaking 
Unto  morn  serene  and  grand. 
Hark!  exultant  anthem  waking 

Of  the  wildwood's  warbling  band, 
Like  a  wind-swept  harp  ^Eolian,  joyful  thrilling  all  the 
land. 

High  the  Thrush  his  song  is  swelling 
Where  no  meaner  voice  intrudes; 
Par  the  Wood -dove's  note  is  telling 

Love's  soft  matin  through  the  woods, 
While  a  home  of  beauty  building  mid  the  leafy  solitudes. 


JUNE.  95 

Mad  with  Joy's  delirium  panting, 

Nearer  sings  the  Oriole; 
Loud  the  Bobolink  is  chanting 

"  Bob -o -link,"  with  fiery  soul, 

Till  through  all  the  woodland  arches  wide  the  music 
billows  roll. 

Lowly  minstrels !  long  above  ye 

Gently  wave  the  budding  sprays; 
Never  will  I  cease  to  love  ye;  — 
Let  your  choral  roundelays 

Waken  still  Love's  wild  aspirings,  yearnings  for  harmo 
nious  days. 

Though  the  Seasons  swiftly  leave  us, 

Each  some  precious  boon  shall  bring; 
Nor  shall  ever  Hope  deceive  us 

Waiting  for  the  coming  Spring  — 

Waiting  for  the  promised  Summer,  with  its  light  and 
blossoming. 


AUTUMN    FLOWERS. 

THOUGH  but  a  memory  is  the  flowery  reign 
Of  gentle  Spring,  out  of  the  days  before; 

And  Summer,  journeying  over  hill  and  plain, 
By  sea  and  shore, 

Jewelled  and  crowned,  leading  a  joyous  train. 
And  gorgeous,  is  no  more;  — 

Still  unto  Autumn  suns  is  beauty  born: 

One  Artist  -  hand  paints  every  flower  that  Hows; 
The  garlands  that  October's  brow  adorn 

Are  dear  as  those 
By  lovely  June  in  all  her  glory  worn. 

Crowned  with  the  royal  Rose. 

The  garden  boasts  the  Dahlia's  regal  show; 

The  many-hued  Verbenas  glint  and  shine: 
Uplifts  the  Feverfew  its  brow  of  snow : 

Still  climb  and  twine 
The  Morning-glories;  Portulacas  glow  — 

Flame  like  a  ruby  -  mine. 


AUTUMN  FLOWERS.  97 

And  all  the  common  flowers  —  a  lowly  race  — 

Their  bloom  prolong:  —  the  Zinnias  bright  unfold: 

The  ( 'ockscomb  proud  flaunts  high  each  gaudy  grace ; 
The  Marigold, 

Though  rude  and  homely,  wears  the  cheerful  face 
It  wore  in  days  of  old. 

The  Primrose  frail,  like  her  the  Summer  knew, 
Hides  from  the  ardor  and  the  glare  of  noon; 

Bears  to  the  stars,  as  erst  she  poured  unto 
The  Harvest  -  moon, 

The  fervor  of  a  passionate  heart  and  true 
Though  paling  all  too  soon. 

In  borders  wide  the  Asters  radiant  bloom  — 
For  beauty's  lofty  guerdon  vie  and  cope; 

The  wind  that  murmurs  by  the  Violet's  tomb 
Of  vanished  hope. 

Comes  laden  with  the  Mignonette's  perfume 
And  breath  of  Heliotrope. 

Still  keeps  the  Amaranth,  nor  overworn, 

The  loveliness  that  saw  the  Summer  come: 

And  one  shall  glad  the  Christmas  hour  adorn  — 
Chrysanthemum, 

Made  dearer  for  the  kisses  latest -born 
Of  lips  now  cold  and  dumb. 


98  AUTUMN  FLOWERS. 

In  shady  nooks  the  gentle  Pansies  show 

A  smile  as  tender  as  the  buds  that  blew  — 

Buds  born  too  soon  —  amid  the  April   snow; 
I  wander  through 

The  tranquil  woods  with  Golden  Rod  aglow, 
And  Speedwell's  sapphire -hue. 

Nor  these  alone  illume  the  waning  hour: 

Along  the  moor  with  fierce  intensity 
Kindles  and  burns  the  scarlet  Cardinal  Flower: 

And  hosts  there  be — 
The  miscalled  weeds,  that,  dowered  with  beauty's  dower. 

Gleam  like  a  golden  sea. 

And  oh,  if  chance  the  tempest's  ruder  kiss 

Leave  all  the  flowers  of  Spring  untimely  sere, 

Or  drouth  lay  waste  the  Summer's  loveliness, 
Thrice  doubly  dear 

Are  ye,  Autumnal  blooms!  that  charm  and  bless 
The  slowly  -  passing  year. 

And  best  beloved,  long -sought,  late -found,  —  0  mine 
More  than  this  blossomed  sweetness,  Friend  of  Fate ! 

Though  on  life's  hills  the  hues  of  Autumn  shine. 
All  seasons  wait 

Alike  the  Rose  of  Love  —  the  flower  divine,  * 
That  never  blooms  too  late. 


PARTING    SUMMER. 

THERE  is  a  moaning  on  the  breath  of  morn. 

A  solemn  cadence  in  the  rillet's  chime, 
A  voice  foreboding  on  the  night -winds  borne  — 

The  first  low  breathing  of  the  wintry  time. 
The  while  meek  Summer  over  all  things  broods 

And  pensive  ponders  on  each  lessening  day, 
There  comes  a  glory  on  the  ripened  woods  — 

The  sure  precursor  of  a  swift  decay. 

The  corn  is  bending  to  the  zephyrs  free, 

Its  thick  ears  waving  with  a  flush  of  gold; 
The  fruit  is  ripening  on  each  orchard  tree, 

The  nut  is  browning  on  the  hazel -wold; 
But  she,  the  Beauteous,  who  had  hardly  known 

One  tearful  trouble,  in  her  sorrow  lies; 
Her  song  is  saddened  in  its  every  tone, 

And  dimmed  the  shining  of  her  lustrous  eyes. 


100  PARTING  SUMMER. 

And  when  her  sceptre  from  her  swaying  falls. 

Oh.  who  would  chide  her  for  the  brimming  tear, 
While  to  our  hearts  for  sympathy  she  calls. 

Through  all  the  voices  of  the  failing  year? 
As  thrills  our  being  with  a  sudden  pain. 

When  fall  the  shadows  of  life's  closing  day. 
To  find  its  promise  of  fruition  vain, 

So  freely  trusted  all  the  coming  way : 

As  stirs  the  spirit  with  a  dread  unrest 

And  trails  its  pinion  in  the  very  dust, 
As  bowed  with  anguish  is  the  aching  breast 

Ere  Hope  is  anchored  in  a  higher  trust,— 
So  is  she  stricken  with  the  sorest  grief: 

And  oh,  what  wonder  she  should  make  such  moan. 
To  leave  the  treasures  of  a  life  so  brief. 

And  all  things  lovely  that  are  still  her  own  ? 

Erewhile  I  marked  her  as  she  musing  strayed 

Through  paths  oft  trodden  in  the  vanished  time 
When  gaily  wandering  as  the  vernal  maid. 

Or  glad  and  joyous  in  her  matron  prime: 
Soft  charms  still  kindled  in  those  features  fair. 

Quick  feeling  trembled  in  her  troubled  eye; 
Her  cheek  still  mantled  through  its  lines  of  care. 

Her  lip  low  murmured  througji  each  stifled  sigh: 


PARTING   SUMMER.  101 

%k  How  have  I  nurtured  ye  with  light  and  dew. 

Ye  woods,  far  waving  with  your  glossy  spray: 
Each  leaf  now  fading  where  it  fluttering  grew 

Shall  soon  be  wafted  by  the  winds  away. 
And  heaped  and  moulding  in  the  lonely  vale 

With  every  semblance  of  its  greenness  gone. 
Or  trod  by  truant  on  the  upland  trail. 

Or  rustle  fearful  to  the  startled  fawn. 

"  And  you.  ye  songsters  of  the  airy  wing. 

[  well  with  plenty  have  your  wants  supplied; 
And  still  contented  could  I  hear  ye  sing. 

Nor  dream  of  aught  of  recompense  beside: 
But  now  the  voices  of  the  grove  are  mute, 

Save  few  more  venturous  that  may  still  prolong 
Joy's  dying  anthems  with  a  lonely  flute  — 

And  these  are  singing  too  their  parting  song. 

"  And  yon  bright  lakelets  shall  I  see  no  more, 

With  white  waves  flashing  in  the  Summer's  pride  ? 
Will  ye  not  sadden  to  the  saddened  shore, 

With  storm-clouds  mirrored  in  your  glassy  tide? 
And  you,  ye  rillets  of  the  silver  chime, 

That  gleam  and  sparkle  like  a  love -lit  eye. 
Will  ye  not  miss  me  in  the  coming  time, 

And  dim  and  darken  to  the  darkened  sky '? 


102  PARTING   SUMMER. 

"  And  must  I  leave  you  in  your  beauty  all, 

Ye  haunts  so  cherished,  of  field,  wood,  and  glade, 
And  know  ye  shrouded  in  a  gloom  and  pall, 

A  dearth  all  darkly  on  your  brightness  laid  ? 
The  earth  was  starry  with  my  tiny  flowers, 

Now  lost,  or  sweetly  unto  fruitage  grown; 
That  soon,  when  ripened  in  the  golden  hours. 

Shall  Autumn  garner  as  if  all  his  own. 

"  Still  would  I  tarry  if  I  might  with  these, 

If  but  in  pleasures  of  the  Past  to  dwell; 
I  may  not  rest  me  but  beyond  the  seas,  — 

My  reign  is  ended,  and  I  go:     Farewell." 
But  still  she  lingered,  as  if  loth  to  part 

From  scene  and  vision  with  her  being  twined; 
And  how  can  woman,  with  a  woman's  heart, 

Forget  each  idol  that  it  once  hath  shrined? 

And  still  she  lingered;  and  I  could  but  mourn 

To  see  her  grieving,  and  so  soon  to  go;  — 
But  hark!  she  listens  to  the  sounding  horn 

Of  Autumn,  winding  in  the  vale  below: 
Startled,  she  gazes  on  a  stranger  crest  — 

(She  hardly  knew  him  for  her  tear -dimmed  sight); 
Then  swift  reclining  on  his  manly  breast, 

Re -gave  his  greeting  with  a  heart  -  delight. 


PARTING  SUMMER.  103 

And  many  a  day  —  a  long  bright  sunny  time  — 

These  twain  have  tarried,  and  ye  could  not  know 
If  this  were  Summer's  in  her  sober  prime, 

Or  that  were  Autumn's  in  his  genial  glow; 
But  late  I  marked  him  with  a  ruffled  brow, 

A  look  of  sternness  in  his  troubled  eyes; 
A  frown  is  shrouding  their  effulgence  now, 

And  clouds  are  flying  through  the  startled  skies. 

Like  sparks  outpouring  from  some  furnace  fire, 

The  woods  are  showering  off  their  crimson  locks; 
The  winds  blow  boisterous  in  their  fitful  ire  — 

The  first  up -gathering  of  the  Equinox. 
And  she,  the  Beauteous,  with  a  brow  serene, 

As  if  the  calm  of  heavenly  hope  it  wore. 
Gave  one  look  fondly  at  each  olden  scene, 

One  smile  of  parting,  and  was  seen  no  more. 


ASPHODEL. 

SAD  September  winds  are  sAvelling 

Through  the  dreary  Autumn  wood; 
As  some  haunting  shade  were  telling 

Through  that  regal  solitude 
Of  the  Past's  untimely  perished. 

The  beloved  of  gayer  hours, 
Early  lost,  too  deeply  cherished.  — 

Blighted  hopes  and  faded  flowers. 

Once  —  what  time  the  bee  was  drunken 

On  the  orchard -bough's  perfume. 
In  the  Cowslip's  calyx  sunken, 

Or  the  Lilac's  purple  bloom,  — 
By  my  path  a  flower  was  blowing, 

With  the  Snow -drops,  fair  and  frail; 
A  more  living  beauty  growing 

Than  the  pride  of  Sharon's  Vale. 


ASPHODEL.  105 

Ever  from  its  morning  natal 

Did  my  heart  all  lovingly 
Watch  each  tiny  folded  petal 

Slow  unveil  its  mystery; 
Though,  the  hours  with  brightness  winging, 

Wheresoe'er  the  sunlight  fell 
Were  a  thousand  blooms  upbringing, 

None  so  fair  as  Asphodel. 


But  the  Mignonette  is  faded, 

Dimmed  the  Tulip's  gaudy  dyes, 
And  the  light  of  pity  shaded 

In  the  Violet's  brimming  eyes: 
No  ambrosia  sweetly  lingers 

In  the  Rose's  nectar -wells, 
And  no  sound  of  fairy  fingers 

In  the  faded  Lily -bells. 

Lone  the  wood -haunts  sleep  uiigladdened 

With  the  Speedwell's  sapphire  blue, 
Prone  the  Clematis  lies  saddened 

With  a  love -forsaken  hue; 
Darkly  quenched  the  frail  aspiring 

Of  the  Jasmine's  slender  stem; 
Thick  the  clustered  Vine  is  firing 

With  the  Autumn's  diadem; 


106  ASPHODEL. 

Summer's  troubled  cheek  is  paling; 

And  my  heart,  bereft  and  sore, 
With  the  widowed  hours  is  wailing 

For  the  Beautiful  —  no  more ; 
All  the  garden  walks  are  lonely, 

Waking  to  no  little  tread; 
All  things  wore  a  beauty  only 

In  the  love  that  now  is  dead. 

Grief,  alas!  my  grief  to  heighten, 

In  my  loss  is  other  known ; 
All  earth's  fairest  gifts  do  brighten 

With  a  radiance  not  their  own ; 
All  things  beauteous  and  tender  — 

Summer  blooms  and  sunset  skies- 
Wear  alone  their  Eden  splendor 

In  the  light  of  loving  eyes. 


OCTOBER. 

OH  HOW  I  love  ye,  pensive  Autumn  days, 

With  suns  so  meek,  so  beautiful  and  brief; 

When  grove  and  tree  shed  down  the  crimson  leaf, 
And  Summer  birds  have  sung  their  parting  lays; 
When  lowly  lies  each  haunt  by  vale  and  hill 

In  mellow  brightness  of  the  hazy  skies; 
When,  as  in  thought,  all  Nature  hushed  and  still 

In  sober,  dreamy  melancholy  lies. 
Why  do  ye  win  me  so  —  oh,  who  may  tell? 

As  yields  the  doting  heart  the  deepest  trust, 
As  bows  the  stubborn  will  to  Beauty's  spell, 
So  do  I  pour  an  homage  full  and  free, 

Because  I  would,  but  more  because  I  must, 
Unto  the  days  the  loveliest  that  be. 


AUTUMN. 


WITH  radiant  brow,  though  deeply  furrowed  o'er 
With  lines  of  toil,  old  Autumn,  hale  appearing, 

As  if  content  with  plenty,  seeks  no  more; 

Leans  on  his  staff  and  eyes  his  treasured  store. 
The  woe -worn  wizard  Want  no  longer  fearing; 
Broods  o'er  the  Past  —  each  tender  thought  endearing 
His  young  loves,  now  no  more. 


And  who  the  story  of  his  days  may  tell, 
Each  deed  and  purpose  of  his  heart  divining? 
These,  like  his  sheaves,  are  ripe  and  garnered 
All  safely  locked  in  Memory's  deepest  cell ; 
Now,  like  a  bough,  no  golden  fruit  inclining. 
Or  leafless  tree  where  no  brown  nut  is  shining, 
When  all  are  hoarded  well. 


AUTUMN.  109 


And  much  of  gladness,  though  in  life's  decline. 
Yet  warms  his  breast,  in  every  feature  glowing: 
He  quaffs  a  bumper  of  the  choicest  wine, 
Still  fresh  from  vintage  where  the  clusters  shine ; 
His  full  hand  freely  unto  Want  bestowing  — 
O'erjoyed  to  see  the  cup  of  all,  high  flowing 
With  oil  and  corn  and  wine. 


Yet  have  I  marked  him  when  in  pensive  mood 
Hard  by  my  way  on  mossy  bank  reclining; 
But  on  his  rest  I  never  dared  intrude,  — 
His  tearful  eye  forbade  obtrusion  rude; 
Such  snowy  locks  his  kingly  forehead  twining, 
With  such  a  presence  all  around  him  shining, 
I  never  dared  intrude. 


Though  oft  when  passing  with  a  lingering  tread 
I  could  but  think  the  old  man's  heart  was  breaking; 
His  lips  were  calling  on  the  loved  and  dead, 
And  free  the  flowing  of  the  tears  he  shed; 
Now  to  his  sight  the  Past  new  beauty  taking, 
While  every  thought,  unconscious  sigh  awaking, 
Was  of  the  loved  and  dead. 


110  AUTUMN. 


And  thus  he  mused:     "  How  long  since  low  we  laid 
Your  faded  forms,  0  loved  ones  buried  lying ! 

How  many  well  -  endeared  doth  cypress  shade! 

And  beauteous  Flora  —  her,  the  gentlest  maid11 
(My  own  eyes  moistened  at  his  tears  and  sighing) 
•'  Her  of  the  early  wed  and  early  dying  — 
Her  too  doth  cypress  shade. 


"My  toil -got  gold  —  oh  what  a  bootless  gain! 

And  this  the  end  of  all  my  striving,  praying: 
My  loves,  my  hopes,  my  aspirations  vain, 
Outliving  all  of  life  itself  but  pain  — 

The  sense  the  deepest  and  the  latest  staying: 

No  pitying  hand  its  keenest  pang  allaying  — 
Hopes,  aspirations,  vain." 


While  yet  his  tear -wet  eye  and  heaving  breast 
Betokened  still  his  grief  found  no  beguiling, 
A  lovely  form,  with  grace  celestial  blest, 
Came  softly  nigh,  and  sought  his  place  of  rest; 
I  knew  sweet  Summer  by  her  kindly  smiling, 
That  oft  erewhile,  a  darkened  moment  whiling, 
My  own  lone  heart  had  blest. 


AUTUMN.  HI 


She  had  come  back — yes,  had  come  back  again. 
To  olden  scenes,  serene  and  calm  outlying; 
To  linger  yet  awhile  on  hill  and  plain 
Where  erst  she  wandered  with  a  joyous  train. 
Ere  earth's  soft  music  knew  a  tone  of  sighing, 
Ere  bright  things  saddened  at  the  thought  of  dying. 
O'er  hill  or  vale  or  plain. 


But  not  to  mourn  her  youthful  visions  o'er — 
One  glorious  faith  from  out  their  wreck  retrieving: 

Though  grief  at  frost  and  blight  were  deep  and  sore, 

That  all  of  Love  will  live  forevermore, 
That  fadeless  wreath  eternity  is  weaving; 
But  oh !  to  find  her  friend  so  deeply  grieving. 
It  pained  her  sad  and  sore. 


That  meeting  who  may  paint?  —  my  pen  is  weak: 
The  deep,  deep  pulsing  of  the  heart's  revealing 
Is  language  truer  than  the  tongue  can  speak, 
Though  on  expression  every  power  it  wreak; 
The  long,  long,  warm  embrace  its  fount  unsealing  — 
The  ebb  and  flowing  of  the  tide  of  feeling 
Leave  naught  for  lips  to  speak. 


112  AUTUMN. 


And  may  not  love  have  home — yea,  love  refined 
[11  chastened  breast  with  holiest  passion  swelling? 

Such  are  the  magnet  sympathies  that  bind 

In  deeper,  closer  unity  of  mind, 
The  kin  of  thought  —  of  life  whose  spirit  dwelling 
Is  in  the  One  Great  Heart,  whose  love  outwelling 
For  aye  doth  all  things  bind. 


Nor  strange  that  gladness  should  resume  her  reign, 
As  with  all  Hope -charmed  words  her  lips  were  showing 

The  stern  though  dread  necessity  of  pain  — 

How  early  loss  may  be  our  later  gain; 
While  every  soothing  sympathy  bestowing, 
Such  as  alone  from  woman's  heart  outflowing 
May  loose  the  bond  of  pain. 


And  I  have  seen,  through  many  a  shining  day, 
O'er  hill  and  plain  these  twain  together  straying, 
While  in  their  eyes  gleams  such  a  heavenly  ray 
I  can  but  deem  their  bliss  is  full  alway; 
But  still  I  fear  me  for  their  transient  staying; 
Yet  would  I  long,  the  last  farewell  delaying, 
Joy  in  that  rapturing  ray. 


INDIAN    SUMMER. 


LIKE  bannered  host,  with  helmet,  plume  and  spear 
Far  borne  elate,  from  thousand  battles  gory, 

The  flaming  woodlands  glow ;  —  these,  year  by  year, 
Are  Nature's  palimpsest,  whereon,  austere 
In  Winter  gloom,  or  gay  in  Summer  glory, 
Is  writ  with  magic  pen  the  wondrous  story 
Of  all  the  circling  year. 


How  thrills  my  bosom  to  thy  tempered  rays, 
More  fair  than  radiant  smiles  in  beauty's  keeping 
Through  all  the  quiet  of  thy  golden  days 
Lie  all  things  mantled  in  a  dreamy  haze  — 
Like  wearied  bosom  in  its  tranquil  sleeping, 
Like  gentle  calm  that  cometh  after  weeping: 
Thine  are  the  loveliest  days. 

15 


114  INDIAN  SUMMER. 


They  tell  us  of  a  far-off  sunuy  clime 
With  noontide  sheen  on  tropic  splendors  lying, 
Where  all  the  year  is  one  long  blooming -time 
Where  song  of  Flora,  in  her  joy  and  prime. 
Wakes  minstrel  Echo  with  a  joy  replying 
From  morning's  dawning  until  vesper's  sighing. 
Through  all  the  charmed  time. 


Thy  light,  o'erlying  all  the  azure  wall, 
So  softly  mellowed  in  its  peerless  shining; 
Thy  sober -kindling  sunshine  over  all, 
That  lingers  even  where  the  shadows  fall; 
Thy  frosted  wreath,  the  vernal  season's  twining; 
Thy  faded  scrolls,  thine  own  fond  first  love's  lining 
These  do  surpass  them  all. 


See  yonder  up  what  goodly  altitudes! 
Supremer  heights,  more  tranquil  airs,  unveiling, 

Along  the  hills  a  purple  glory  broods; 

In  all  the  silence  of  the  Autumn  woods  — 
A  royal  robe  of  tinted  splendor  trailing 
O'er  shrub  and  tree,  unto  rare  beauty  paling  — 
A  subtle  spirit  broods, 


IX  1)1  AX  SUMMEK.  115 


Like  smile  that  trembles  in  Love's  sorrowing  tear; 
Like  fond  regret  some  tender  thought  suffusing; 

Like  heart  high  throbbing  with  a  wealth  of  cheer. 

Though  known  of  grief,  no.r  stranger  unto  fear, 
Though  lone  and  saddened,  yet  in  hopeful  musing. 
When  some  high  faith  hath  recompensed  its  losing 
'With  well -enduring  cheer. 


Though  stilled  the  chorus  of  the  choral  throng, 
More  red  than  mountain  peaks  that  sunset  umbers 

Lies  all  the  grove,  late  clamorous  with  song; 

A  sacred  calm  these  forest  aisles  along, 
A  holy  hush,  a  Sabbath  quiet  slumbers; 
A  silent  music  breathes  in  mystic  numbers, 
Sweeter  than  any  song. 


I  lowly  listen  to  each  Dryad  rune, 
Through  lonely  woodland  haunts  ecstatic  straying, 

While  all  day  long  is  one  long  afternoon; 

Had  Eden  fairer  sublunary  boon 
Than  Nature  ever  at  this  height  delaying  ?  — 
Such  rainbow -tinted  sundowns  her  arraying, 
Gorgeous,  at  highest  noon. 


116  INDIAN  SUMMER. 


Brief  are  thy  halcyon  days,  and  fleeting  fast, 
Though  yet  October's  milder  reign  imposing, 

As  though  thy  hour  most  beauteous  were  last; 

Like  faithful  spirit,  when  its  strife  is  passed, 
I  n  bosom  of  a  deathless  hope  reposing : 
So  may  my  days,  when  hastening  to  their  closing, 
Grow  brighter  till  the  last. 


GARNERED    SHEAVES. 

WHEN  passed  life's  Summer  clays  of  heat  and  toil, 
As  musing  lone  I  sit  with  frosted  locks, 
When  passed  the  Passions'  stormy  equinox 

And  vain  Ambition's  labor  and  turmoil, 

May  I.  0  Autumn,  bound  with  withered  leaves 
And  faded  flowers  that  failed  of  ripened  seeds, 

Like  thee,  like  thee  count  o'er  my  wealth  of  sheaves 
And  harvest -hoard^  the  fruit  of  noble  deeds. 

Serene  as  falls  thy  light  on  amber  slope, 

And  woodlands  far  aflame  like  set  of  sun, 

My  failing  days  be  beautiful  with  Hope; 

And  bear,  like  thine,  my  heart's  wild  yearnings  stilled. 
The  blest  fruition  of  a  labor  done  — 

The  glory  of  a  destiny  fulfilled. 


WINTER    LAYS. 

THE  bristling  woods  are  tipped  with  gold, 
As  dusky  twilight  shadows  fall; 
I  hear  again  the  shepherd's  call. 

The  sheep -bell  tinkling  to  the  fold; 

The  hearth -fire  crackles  to  the  cold, 
And  faintly  flickers  011  the  wall. 

lit1 -pile  the  grate,  and  spread  the  board. 

With  little  store,  or  plenty,  blest; 

Still  from  thy  birder  bring  the  best; 
Unlock  the  orchard's  harvest  hoard  — 
Whatever  good  tl\v  hand  hath  stored: 

Then  hid  thy  friend  a  welcome  guest. 

And  while  the  slowly  kindling  blaze 

Leaps  sparkling  from  the  crackling  fire. 
Bring  forth  the  harp,  attune  the  lyre. 

And  wake  the  songs  of  other  days; 

Love's  olden  long -forgotten  lays. 
That  win  the  soul  to  new  desire. 


WTNTER    LAYS.  119 


And  heart  to  heart,  as  eye  to  eye, 

Charm  the  slow-winging  hours  away 
With  tales  of  many  a  vanished  day 

And  severed  link  and  sundered  tie; 

Of  loved  ones  dead,  that  never  die, 
And  other  near  ones,  far  away. 

Or  join  awhile  the  joyous  train, 

And  feel  the  pulses  dance  and  leap 
Where  merry  feet  in  mazes  sweep 
Unto  the  viol's  mellow  strain: 
While  moonlight  silvers  o'er  the  plain, 
And  starry  eyes  their  watches  keep. 


LOOK  where  yon  ice-bound  river  winds 
Afar  the  cragged  hills  between : 
See  high  above  its  snowy  sheen 

The  glimmer  of  a  thousand  pines. 

That  all  the  dim  horizon  binds  — 
A  massy  belt  of  living  green. 

Deep  rooted  in  the  soilless  earth 

See  heavenward  rear  their  giant  forms, 
Though  scarce  the  glow  of  Summer  warms 

Those  serried  steeps  of  frost  and  dearth; 

Mid  rocks  and  barrenness  their  birth. 
High  cradled  by  the  eddying  storms. 


120  WINTER    LAYS. 

And  so  the  soul,  in  soil  of  care, 

On  glaring  glacier  peaks  of  woe, 
Shall  like  yon  pines  amid  the  snow 

A  fadeless  wreath  of  beauty  wear — 

Be  brighter  for  the  frosty  air, 

And  stronger  for  the  winds  that  blow. 


THE  night -winds  sigh  along  the  sedge; 
While  on  the  orient's  silver  crest 
The  thickly  somberiiig  shadows  rest; 
High,  pile  on  pile,  a  beetling  ledge 
Seems  toppling  on  the  horizon's  edge, 
Of  clouds  upgathering  in  the  west. 

Where  Autumn  shed  his  sober  light. 
O'er  shining  fields  of  golden  grain, 
Whence  blended  in  one  glad  refrain 
Came  harvest  songs  of  home  delight, 
We  see,  alas!  but  dearth  and  blight, 

And  hear  the  storm  shriek  out  amain. 

The  sable  gloom  the  morning  wears 
Chill  o'er  the  orient's  misty  bar, 
The  clouded  noon,  so  dim^nd  far, 

But  type  the  heart  my  bosom  bears; 

O'ershadowed  by  a  thousand  cares, 

And  ray  less  of  each  heavenly  star. 


WIXTER    LAYS.  121 


Yet  soon  the  onward  rolling  }rear 

Shall  bring  again  each  vanished  day- 
Spring  shed  a  warm  and  joyous  ray 

Adown  the  vale  now  lone  and  drear; 

New  leaf  in  green  the  forest  sere, 

And  robe  the  hills  in  bloom  of  May. 

So  may  our  souls,  though  all  unblest. 
And  bowed  in  sorrow  overlong, 
With  olden  Summer  glories  throng; 
And  feeling's  most  divine  unrest 
Full  flood  again  the  empty  breast, 

And  brim  the  crystal  wells  of  song. 


THE  cones  that  pierce  yon  purple  light 
Have  seen  a  hundred  winters  flee, 
And  other  hundred  years  shall  see; 

Ere,  yielding  to  the  tempest's  might. 

*» 

They  topple  from  their  dizzy  height, 
My  simple  harp  will  cease  to  be. 

Yet  will  I  tune  my  wintry  lyre. 

Though  it  may  Avake  no  note  of  fame. 
To  nobler  purpose,  higher  aim, 

To  feel  each  winged  thought  aspire; 

While  brighter  glows  the  kindling  fire, 
And  still  more  bright  the  social  flame. 


122  WINTER    LAYS. 

So  will  I  cheer  the  hour  with  song; 

Nor  doubt  along  life's  darkened  ways 
There  swells  some  echo  of  my  lays 

In  hearts  where  mystic  murmurs  throng; 

More  sweet,  if  love  the  strain  prolong. 

Than  hollow  trumpet -tongue  of  praise 


ALL  day  the  forest  oaks  have  swayed 

Their  branches  with  a  restless  sweep; 
The  winds  their  stormy  revels  keep 
Through  wooded  wilds,  in  field  and  glade: 
While  round  the  cotter's  hut  delayed 
Still  higher  piles  the  drifting  heap. 

All  day  upon  my  heart  has  lain 

The  shadow  of  a  nameless  fear; 
I  stay  the  overbrimming  tear, 

And  still  my  bosom's  throb  of  pain; 

But  its  disquiet  comes  again, 

And  deepens  as  the  glooms  appear. 

No  vain  regret  for  loved  ones  dead 

Lives  in  this  strangely  -  aching  smart; 
Nor  careless  hand  with  ruthless  dart 

Anew  some  olden  wound  hath  bled; 

Nor  know  I  whence  the  sorrow  dread 
That  casts  its  shadow  on  my  heart. 


WINTER    LAYS.  123 

And  is  there  by  the  soul  possessed 

A  chord  that  feels  prophetic  thrill, 

Presaging  grief  erewhile  to  fill 
The  coming  time  with  sore  unrest? 
A  horoscope  within  the  breast, 

And  this  its  dark  portent  of  ill?  — 

Some  Stormy  Petrel's  warning  cry 

On  Life's  lone  seas?  —  the  haunting  wraith 
Of  yet  uncoffined  love  and  faith? 

The  twanging  of  a  sundered  tie? 

The  kiss  of  lips  that  soon  shall  lie 
Mute  in  the  miracle  of  Death  ? 

Ah  well !  —  of  Truth  the  rarest  seeds 

Are  sorrow -sown;  from  out  the  dust 
Our  tears  have  wet  —  the  wreck  and  rust 

Of  perished  hopes  and  buried  creeds, 

Spring  harvests  new  qf  nobler  deeds 
Of  purer  love  and  higher  trust. 


FULL  many  a  day  the  biting  snow 

Has  cumbered  wide  the  saddened  plain: 
Still  higher  heaps  the  drifting  lane, 

Still  bleak  the  storm  -  winged  tempests  blow: 

We  seek  the  sun's  serener  glow 

From  out  the  burdened  skies  in  vain. 


124  WINTER    LAYS. 

The  fleecy  tenants  of  the  fold 

Still  mourn  the  meadow's  grassy  boon: 
The  kine,  the  heathy  copse  to  prune. 
Lone  wander  on  the  dreary  wold 
And  look,  while  shivering  with  the  cold. 
For  pity  to  the  clouded  moon. 

Like  yeanlings  reft  of  mother's  breast, 
That  Summer's  sunlight  sadly  miss. 
Or,  bowed  in  wintry  loneliness, 

Like  yonder  kine,  with  hunger  pressed, 

I  wander  on  Life's  weary  waste, 

Amid  the  blighted  boughs  of  bliss. 


O'ER  leagues  of  snow-emmantled  earth 
The  Christmas  bells  are  ringing  clear; 
Thrice  -  welcome  hour,  though  bleak  mid  drear. 

And  harbinger  of  storm  and  dearth: 

In  loving  smiles  and  glowing  hearth 

Thou  bringest  more  than  Christmas  cheer. 

0  hallowed  day!  to  thee  allied 

Is  all  that  most  this  life  endears 

Of  faith  and  hope  —  of  doubt  and  tears, 

And  love  of  One  for  love  that  died. 

Yet  lives  again,  and  glorified 

In  thee,  through  twice  a  thousand  years! 


WINTER    LAYS.  125 

To-day  shall  Absence  and  Regret 

Their  iron  sceptre  yield  to  you; 

For  friends  to  old  affection  true 
Across  the  stormy  years  have  met, 
And  eyes  with  joy's  suffusion  wet 

Drink  light  from  kindred  eyes  anew. 

To-day  the  sire  that  feebly  bows 

Shall  flush  with  seeming  youth  the  while; 

And  careless  girlhood's  happy  smile 
Re -light  its  glow  on  matron  brows; 
While  blissful  dreams  and  loving  vows 

Shall  many  a  maiden  care  beguile. 

To-day  shall  grief,  in  anguish  prone, 

From  pain  a  respite  gladly  win; 

And  he  who  owns  no  bosom -kin, 
Who  threads  Time's  wintry  maze  alone. 
Shall  start  at  oft -endearing  tone  — 

Brief  murmur  from  the  life  within: 

And  musing  sad,  his  heart  shall  lean 

To  olden  memories,  hope -embossed; 
The  latest  loved,  the  early  lost, 

Perchance  are  with  him,  all  unseen, 

From  Paradise  of  summer -green, 

To  soothe  his  spirit,  tempest -tossed; 


t>  WINTER    LA  VS. 

Or  on  his  deeply  visioned  eye 

Rise  fairest  forms  we  may  not  sec  — 
Loom  other  landscapes,  blooming  free; 

As.  with  a  trust  that  may  not  die. 

He  ponders  long  each  sundered  tie, 
Or  bond  more  beautiful  to  be. 


THE  mist  lies  heavy  on  the  hills, 

And  shrouds  in  gloom  each  rocky  steep; 

The  dusky  clouds  above  them  sleep. 
Whence  slow  the  trickling  rain  distils. 
Like  some  o'erburdened  lid  that  fills 

With  gathering  tears  it  can  but  weep. 

The  fleecy  snow  and  glistening  rime 
Are  melting  from  the  earth  away; 
I  look  upon  her  mantle  gray, 
And  think  me  of  the  blooming  -  time, 
And  mark  the  day -god  slowly  climb 
Still  higher  up  the  walks  of  day. 

And  glad  to  know  each  vanished  storm 
Will  go  to  grace  the  Summer  hour, 
And  add  new  beauty  to  the  bower 

That  drinks  the  sunshine  glad  and  warm, 

And  give  each  fairy  floral  form 

A  greener  leaf  and  gayer  flower. 


WINTER     I.  A  VS.  12 

So  oft  the  troubled  heart  must  know 

The  binding  of  ;m  icy  chain: 

Yet  dewy  tears,  like  Summer  rain, 
Shall  bid  the  frigid  fountain  flow  — 
Life  wear  anew  its  vernal  glow, 

And  feeling's  pulses  leap  again. 

Some  long -forgotten  voice  may  wake 

The  murmur  of  an  early  song; 

Or  secret  echo,  silent  long, 
A  well -remembered  music  make; 
And  oh!  the  aching  heart  must  break. 

Or  tears  dissolve  each  icy  thong. 

So  shall  we  win  from  all  things  here 

A  trust  for  good  in  everything. 

And  hear  Hope's  bright  -  winged  songsters  sing 
Behind  the  wintry  clouds  of  fear: 
And  know,  when  watered  by  a  tear, 

Love  wears  anew  the  flush  of  Spring. 


BY    THE     FIRESIDE. 

DEEP  in  the  forest  brown  and  bare 
I  hear  the  Genius  of  the  Storm; 
[  see  the  outline  of  his  form 

Dark  pictured  on  the  frosty  air; 

And  mid  the  tall  oaks  waving  there, 
The  swaying  of  his  mighty  arm. 

Though  bleak  the  bitter  winds  that  blow, 
And  darkens  on  a  dreary  night, 
The  wide  hearth  beckons  warm  and  bright; 

In  converse  sweet,  in  genial  glow 

Of  Summers  buried  long  ago, 

Is  more  than  Summer's  lost  delight. 

Awhile  beside  the  cheerful  blaze, 

Some  story  of  the  vanished  time, 
And  sweeter  than  the  vesper -chime. 

Come  read  me,  dear;  or  lowly  lays 

From  out  the  old  heroic  days, 

Of  love  through  sorrow  made  sublime. 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE.  129 

Bring  for  our  darling  ones'  delight 
Arabia's  fairy  wonder -tome, 
Or  with  the  world -wide  Pilgrim  roam: 

Tilt  with  the  mad  Castilian  Knight; 

Or  look  with  Crusoe's  yearning  sight 
On  seas  that  gird  his  Island  Home. 

Turn  to  the  Ploughman  -  Poet  dear: 

Let  "Twa  Dogs"  wise  their  converse  keep; 
With  '' Halloween"  our  pulses  leap; 

Bend  o'er  the  "  Mountain  Daisy's "  bier; 

Sing  "Bonny  Doon;" —  one  tender  tear 
With  him  for  Highland  Mary  weep. 

Read — of  the  Oak  that  lightly  flung 

Abroad  such  wealth  of  songful  lore 
To  lovers  dear;  or.  turning  o'er, 
Of  Alice,  and  the  Bard  that  sung  — 
Albeit  his  heart  with  sorrow  wrung  — 
"  That  loss  but  made  us  love  the  more.1' 

Of  her  whose  breath  passed  in  the  sigh  — 

" Sweet  is  true  love,  though  given  in  vain;'' 

Or  her  that,  pierced  with  pity's  pain. 
Alone  "  clothed  on  with  chastity," 
Rode  at  high  noon  through  Coventry  — 

Unrobed,  yet  without  blame  or  stain. 


130  BY   THE    FIRES  TDK. 

Of  him  that  with  his  Hermia  strayed, 
Slept  a  true  lover  and  true  knight; 
On  whom  before  the  morning  light 

The  Elfin's  wizard  charm  was  laid, 

So,  waking,  lie  mistook  the  maid, 

And  broke,  and  lightly  proffered,  plight. 

Is  theirs  alone  the  woe  in  weal? 

Alas!  such  lovers  all  are  we; 

Where  grows  the  herb  whose  potency 
May,  counter -charmed,  our  eyes  unseal'-' 
And  each  to  each  in  truth  reveal, 

And  this  confusion  cease  to  be? 

Of  her  Wyoming  darkly  mourned  — 
The  maiden  beautiful,  that  fell 
By  the  red  hand  of  war;  —  ah,  well! 
Precious  the  bliss  her  heart  inurned 
That  said:  '"Tis  Waldegrave's  self,"  returned 
Again  —  "of  Waldegrave  come  to  tell." 

Of  her  that  bore  too  long  the  smart 
Of  love  delayed,  yet  keeping  green 
Love's  lilies  for  the  one  unseen. 
Counselling  but  her  woman's  heart. 
Chose  in  all  ways  life's  better  part;  - 
Arcadian  Evangeline. 


BY   THE   FIRESIDE.  131 

Or.  in  the  changeful  Seasons,  fly 

With  Damon  to  the  sylvan  shade: 
Look  on  the  foam -emman  tied  maid  — 

Behold  love's  sacred  mystery! 

Oh,  for  the  lover's  chastened  eye 
To  see  all  beauty,  disarrayed! 

Or  roam  Palemoii's  Harvest -land: 

There  with  the  lowly  damsel  glean, 
And  dream  that  Virtue's  garments  mean 

Are  Virtue's  still;  Love's  sacred  band 

Is  more  than  gold;  that  Beauty's  wand 
Still,  chastened,  holds  its  sway  serene. 

Weep  —  buried  in  Lavinia's  grave  — 
For  wedded  loves  in  simple  ways 
Of  Nature,  crowned  with  length  of  days, 
And  fairest  treasures  Hymen  gave: 
When  "  numerous  offspring,"  sturdy,  brave, 

And  "lovely  like  themselves,"  was  praise. 

*  *  * 

Or  turning,  read  in  lowly  tales 

And  waifs  of  old  idyllic  song, 

Of  weary  hearts  that  suffered  long, 
Yet  firm  in  trust  that  never  fails; 
For  much  their  triumph  us  avails 

To  make  our  faith  in  Virtue  strong. 


132  BY  THE   FIRESIDE. 

Of  him  that,  far  years  gazing  through, 
Looked  on  his  Annie's  face  beside 
An  alien  hearth;  then,  sorely  tried, 

With  yearning  heart  so  tender -true. 

Back  into  sheltering  darkness  drew, 
And  held  his  purpose  till  he  died. 

Of  him,  the  Chief  of  Table  Round, 
That  bore  the  matchless  cimeter— 
The  mystic  brand  Excalibur; 
Great  Arthur!  he  the  Blameless  crowned: 
That  in  such  pitying  grief  profound 
Bent  o'er  his  erring  Gruinevere. 

And  is  there  other  sorrow  —  care 
So  infinite,  supremely  great 
As  theirs,  alas !  who  yearning  wait 

Prone  by  a  darkened  hearth,  and  bear 

To  Love  an  agonizing  prayer 

For  love  that,  wandering,  lingers  late  ? 

Of  him,  the  pride  of  Ithaca: 

The  greatest  his  of  names  that  throng 
Heroic  annals;  brave  and  strong  — 
Mighty  for  noble  deeds!  —  may  we, 
Like  him,  the  Island  Charmer  flee, 
Nor  harken  to  the  Sirens'  Song. 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE.  133 

Of  him  who,  Lethe's  waters  passed, 
In  Hades  journeyed  far  below— 
Dark  mapped  the  nether  realms  of  woe: 

Thence  rising  to  Elysian  rest. 

Saw  all  the  legions  of  the  blest 

Whose  garments  are  as  drifting  snow. 

But  turn  the  visioned  tome  with  awe; 

For  who  so  pure  to  taste  the  bliss 

Of  Dante  and  of  Beatrice'? 
Yet  owning  still  the  primal  law. 
All  hearts  do  inspiration  draw, 

0  Woman,  from  thy  loveliness! 

*  *  * 

Lo,  Midnight  lingers  at  the  gate! 

Still  wide  the  lettered  page  unrolls 
Where  Fame  heroic  deeds  enscrolls: 

And  oft  returning  shall  we  wait 

Around  the  hearthstone,  conning  late 
These  chronicles  of  noble  souls. 

And  though  the  world  do  doubt  their  sooth, 
And  sceptic's  scoff  be  on  him  cast 
Who  counts  such  legends  of  the  Past 

More  than  a  fabled  dream  of  youth, 

Yet  will  we  trust  their  very  truth  — 
Or  strive  to  make  them  true  at  last. 


Ever  the  Moon  the  Sea  draws  on  apace ; 
Earth  trembles,  swaying  unto  orb  afar; 
No  star  but  turning  unto  answering  st«r, 
Kindles  find  burns  unto  remotest  space; 

Orion's  flaming  car 
Draws  all  the  Hosts  of  heaven — a  shining  train  ; 

So  in  thy  wider  realm,  O  world  of  Mind! 
A  fine  electric  tic — lore's  mystic  chain 
Doth  kindred  Spirits  bhid. 


SONGS    OF    THE    TOILER. 


THE  Seasons  as  they  come  and  go  — 

Spring's  gentle  sunshine  warm, 
The  Summer's  heat,  the  Autumn's  glow, 

The  Winter's  cloud  and  storm; 
The  flowers  that  drink  the  dews  of  morn 

The  earth  -  bescreening  sod, 
The  myriad  forms  of  beauty  born 

In  the  wide  realms  of  God: 
The  rivers  as  they  seaward  wend. 

The  sea -waves'  wild  turmoil, 
The  winds  the  sturdy  forest  bend. — 

Are  the  High  Priests  of  Toil. 

18 


138  SONGS   OF  THK   TOILER. 


They  who  in  lettered  lore  untaught, 

Yet  deeper  visioned  be. 
Who  read,  in  Sibyl -cipher  wrought, 

In  earth  and  air  and  sea 
The  good  Beneficence  intends. 

In  sun  and  dew  and  rain 
See  Nature  working  to  vast  ends 

Through  all  her  fair  domain,— 
Shall  feel  their  life  at  one  with  these, 

Nor  from  their  task  recoil. 
But  leave  the  languid  paths  of  Ease 

For  the  broad  fields  of  Toil. 


JOY  to  the  Toiler!  —  him  that  tills 

The  fields  with  Plenty  crowned; 
Him  with  the  woodman's  axe  that  thrill 

The  wilderness  profound; 
Him  that  all  day  doth  sweating  bend 

In  the  fierce  furnace  heat; 
And  her  whose  cunning  fingers  tend 

On  loom  and  spindle  fieet! 
A  prayer  more  than  the  prayer  of  saint, 

A  faith  no  fate  can  foil, 
Lives  in  the  heart  that  shall  not  faint 

In  time-lon<2:  task  of  Toil. 


SONGS   OF  THE    TOILER.  139 


A  bliss  the  sluggard  never  knows 

Deep  in  his  heart  shall  spring. 
Whose  life  flows  as  the  tide -wave  flows 

Creation's  antheming! 
Whom  ceaseless  din  of  labor  charms 

Like  new-world's  primal  song; 
As  grow  his  swart  and  sinewy  arms. 

His  soul  grows  free  and  strong; 
Till  over  all  a  glory  springs 

On  mine  and  mill  and  soil, 
And  the  stern  destiny  that  brings 

A  heritage  of  Toil. 


PEACE  to  the  troubled  years  agone ! 

Their  darkest  day  is  set, 
Though  round  the  ages'  rosy  dawn 

The  shadows  linger  yet; 
Full  many  a  wondrous  work  is  wrought, 

More  wondrous  yet  to  be 
Than  flashing  of  undying  Thought 

Across  the  unfathomed  sea: 
And  lo!  the  mystery  that  sleeps 

In  Magian  Serpent's  coil  — 
The  lightnings  in  the  vasty  deeps 

Chained  to  the  car  of  Toil! 


140  SONGff  OF  THE   TOILKti. 


Still  endless  weave  the  subtle  band 

O'er  ocean,  vale,  and  hill, 
Till  far  to  one  electric  hand 

Shall  million  pulses  thrill! 
0  God,  this  old  world  never  knew 

Such  prophecy  of  Peace! 
More  faith  and  love  our  wrongs  subdue, 

With  light  our  hopes  increase; 
Revealing  near,  like  morning  sun, 

Above  the  Past's  turmoil, 
Our  hearts'  wild  dream  Utopian  — 

A  Brotherhood  of  Toil! 


What  time  the  noble  Worker -band  — 

The  true,  the  free,  the  bold, 
With  swarthy  brow  and  bony  hand. 

Like  warrior  host  of  old, 
From  where  the  Southern  sunlight  shines, 

Or  Mississippi  glides, 
Lone  ceaseless  sing  our  Northern  pines, 

Wild  break  Atlantic  tides, — 
From  many  a  land  afar  shall  come, 

And  not  to  feud  arid  broil : 
But  to  the  festive  Harvest -home 

And  Carnival  of  Toil. 


SONGS  Or  THE   TOILER. 


Roll  up  the  full -orbed  Freedom -star 

To  light  Earth's  desert  fields; 
Affright  the  solitudes  afar 

With  sound  of  rolling  wheels, 
Thou  fiery  steed  whose  fearful  neigh 

Wakes  wide  our. sovereign  Land! 
Thou  mighty  triumph  of  To-day 

From  Labor's  cunning  hand! 
Thy  argosies  no  storms  betide, 

No  tempest's  wrath  may  spoil; 
For  all  unheeding  wind  or  tide, 

Thou  tread'st  thy  path  of  Toil. 


THE  Giant  Slave,  that  may  not  tire. 

But  work  the  long  day  through 
With  thews  of  steel  and  lungs  of  fire, 

Has  other  task  to  do 
Than  delve  the  mine  or  rive  the  hill 

Or  wind  the  furnace  -  glow. 
Or  drive  the  plane,  the  forge,  the  mill.- 

To  plough  and  reap  and  sow! 
Till  none  shall  walk  with  aching  feet, 

With  weary  trudge  and  droil, 
But  kingly  proud,  as  seemeth  meet 

The  royal  sons  of  Toil. 


142  SOXGS   OF   THE    TOILER. 


The  mighty  sinew  -  powers  that  wait 

In  earth  and  sea  and  air, 
Shall  tireless  early  toil  and  late  — 

Our  menial  burdens  bear; 
Their  iron  feet  still  fleeter  flee  — 

Our  errands  speed  apace, 
Till  only  Art  and  Science  be 

The  Helots  of  the  Race! 
The  Toiler's  glorious  destiny 

No  more  to  drudge  and  moil; 
His  labor  loving  labor  be  — 

Serene,  untiring  Toil. 


Joy  to  the  Toiler  everywhere! 

Still  let  his  hand  be  plied; 
Wide  plant  the  rose  to  blossom  fair 

In  many  a  desert  wide; 
A  richer  blessing  year  by  year 

Win  from  old  mother  Earth; 
A.  purer  household  altar  rear 

By  the  endearing  hearth; 
Let  wiser  Thought  to  Labor  given 

Redeem  lost  Eden's  soil ; 
Then  fair  shall  bloom  the  Flowers  of  Heaven 

In  the  sweet  Homes  of  Toil. 


TANNHAUSER. 


ALL  our  modern  skies  are  clouded  with  a  sceptic  gloom 

and  haze  — 

With  the  dust  of  vanished  years; 
Though  the  paling  stars  are  shining,  they  have  lost 

their  mystic  chime, 
Singing  to  our  duller  ears;  — 
So  the  ancient  myths  and  legends,  stories  of  the  Olden 

Time, 

That  the  fading  Past  endears, 
Only  to  the  eye  that  reads  them  by  the  light  of  other 

days, 
Are  instinct  with  Truth  sublime. 


TANNHAU8EB. 


Yet  to-day  by  cottage  firesides  still,  by  mountain,  moor. 

and  fell, 

As  in  far-off  Aryan  times. 
Lives  the   Folk -Lore  of  the  Ages;  —  are  by  wrinkled 

grandames  told 

All  the  nursery  tales  and  rhymes; 
Faithful  John  and  Cinderella,  he  the  Master  Thief  and 

bold- 

Stories  of  all  lands  and  climes; 
Famous  sleepers,  wondrous  pipers,  matchless  archers;  — 

and  they  tell 
This  among  the  legends  old: 


In  a  mountain  of  Thuringia.  where  the  storms  their 

revels  keep, 

Hidden  in  its  heart  of  rock, 
Is  the  dwelling  of  Fran  Holda.  where  her  worshippers 

resort, 

Is  the  famous  Horselloch; 
Whence  is  heard  the  cry  of  anguish  and  the  laugh  of 

demon  sport  — 

Frenzied  tongues  that  jeer  and  mock 
Blent  with  sound  of  angry  billows  in  some  dread  abys 
mal  deep.— 
Cave  where  Venus  holds  her  court. 


TANNHAVSER.  145 


Only  simple  souls  and  lowly  have  the  gift  of  clearer 

sight  — 

Have  that  rarer  vision  won; 
To  the  lone  belated  peasant,  as  he  weary  homeward 

strode, 

Plodding  slow  at  set  of  sun, 
Oft  that  terror-haunted  Venusberg   a  sudden  Avonder 

showed; 

Brightening  all  the  shadows  dun, 

Saw  he  shining  forms  of  maidens  dancing  in  the  spec 
tral  light  — 
Dwellers  in  that  weird  abode. 


And  the  valiant  knight,  Tannhauser,  he,  the  troubadour 

renowned, 

To  all  bold  adventures  led. 
With  his  great  heart  sole  companioned,  journeying  late 

but  unafraid 

By  that  cavern  yawning  dread, 
Saw  uprising  thence  resplendent  in  the  twilight's  falling 

shade 

One  of  queenly  form  and  tread; 
And  she  beckoned  to  him  smiling,  with  her  cestus-zone 

unbound, 
In  all  loveliness  arrayed. 

19 


14:6  TANNHAUSER. 


As  with  kindling  eye  and  eager  feet  he  climbed  that 

perilled  way, 

Lo!  before  him  watching  late 
Rose  an  old  man,  Faithful  Eckhardt  —  there  with  white 

staff  doomed  to  stand. 
Warn  and  ward  from  evil  fate; 
The  fore -herald  when  at  midnight  ride  the  Wild  Hosts 

through  the  land; 
And  he  looked  with  pity  great 
On  that  gallant  minnesinger,  lured  by  beauty's  phantom 

ray, 
And  he  waved  a  warning  hand. 


But  in  vain:  Tannhauser  gazing  on  that  unveiled  glory 

near, 

In  its  wizard  charm  and  thrall, 
Saw  not  him,  the  faithful  warden,  nor  the  hand  high 

waved  in  air;  — 

Honor,  fame,  gold,  comrades  —  all 
Were  but  foregone  things  forgotten;  saw  he  but  that 

vision  fair. 

Heard  he  but  that  Siren -call; 
Music  more  than  harp  of  Orpheus  to  his  enchanted 

ear, 
Drowned  that  omen-tongued  "  Beware!" 


TANNHAU8ER.  147 


On  his  good  steed,  on  the  outer  world  one  longing  look 

he  fed  — 

To  that  Goddess  turned,  and  lo ! 

Far  she  drew  him  to  her  palace,  lit  and  garnished  gor 
geously, 

In  the  mountain  far  below; 
And  the  hours  went  by  unheeded,  from  all  thought  but 

pleasure  free, 

And  the  wine -cups  overflow; 
Wild  delights  and  bacchanalian,  to  all  lustful  pleasures 

wed, 
Rioting  and  revelry. 


Nymphs  with  floating  tresses  shining  like  the  gold  in 

sunset  sky. 

Waked  the  love  -  enchanted  lyre; 
And  each  hot  erratic  passion  in  his  fiery  soul 

intense 

Kindled  into  fierce  desire; 
All  delights  that  beauty  wanton,  clasped  in  rapt  delirious 

dance, 

And  the  foaming  bowl  inspire. 
Freely  quaffed  he  —  until  seven  years  had  fled  unheeded 

by; 
All  the  ravished  joys  of  sense. 


148  TANNHAU8ER, 


But  ere  long  the  soul  that  slumbers  with  remorse  shall 

stricken  be  — 

Must  each  sin  its  sorrow  bear; 
And    Tannhauser.    again    longing    for   the   sunshine's 

clearer  ray. 

For  a  breath  of  purer  air. 
Cried  unto  the  Virgin  Mother,  though  with  lips  unused 

to  pray. 

In  his  anguish  and  despair: 
She.  with  tender  heart  of  pity,  set  his  erring  footsteps 

free 
In  the  light  of  upper  day. 


More  than  jewelled  halls  and  joy  of  wine  and  ribald  jest 

and  song 

In  the  caverns  underground. 
Was  to  him  the  sun  new-risen,  was  the  <le\v-hesprinkled 

><„!. 

Was  the  streamlet's  leap  and  bound; 
Was  the  path  of  mountain  -chamois,  that  his  foretime 

footsteps  trod. 

Was  the  sheep-bell's  tinkling  sound; 
And  his  soul,  that  wakened  conscience  sore  reproved  of 

sin  and  wrong. 
Longed  to  be  at  peace  with  Grod. 


TANNHAUSER.  149 


But  in  vain  his  crimes  confessing,  he  could  no  remission 

find. 

Though  priest  after  priest  he  sought; 
Still  he  wandered,  sore  benighted,  in  the  unabated 

gloom 

Of  his  evil -darkened  thought; 
Humbly  to  the  Pope  he  bowed  him:  he  could  not  unseal 

the  doom 

Of  such  condemnation  wrought; 
Sooner  should  the  staff  that  bore  him,  like  a  garland 

summer  -  twined, 
Bud  and  quicken  into  bloom. 


Then,  a  darkened  soul  unshriven  through  the  endless 

years  to  bear, 

Bowed  in  sorrow,  doubt,  and  pain. 
Turned  he  from  the  world  of  sunlight  —  his  great  heart 
with  anguish  torn, 

To  that  Venusberg  again 

Three  days,  and  behold!  the  Father's  staff  had  —  pass 
ing  wonder!  —  borne 
Buds  and  blossoms;  but  in  vain; 
For  still  he  for  whom  no  priestly  hand  might  absolution 

dare 
Must  his  sin  unpardoned  mourn. 


150  TANNHAUSER. 


Quick  with  awe  arose  Pope  Urban — rode  his  messengers 

amain; 
And  they  sought  the  Horsel  vale; 

Late  —  alas !  too  late ! How  oft  too  late  our  hearts 

forgiveness  bear!  .... 
Far  along  the  mountain  trail 
A  lone,  wayworn,  haggard  man  had  passed,  with  weary 

feet  of  care  — 

Passed  with  troubled  brow  and  pale; 
Since,  Tannhauser  has  been  seen  no  more;  —  nor  home- 

returning  swain 
Since  has  seen  that  Goddess  fair. 


And  is  this  my  homely  legend  but  a  story  of  the 

Past? 

Or  the  Present  all  unguessed? 
Of  some  mighty  Truth  dishonored  by  its  prophet  over  - 

bold- 

By  its  false  evangelist  ? 
And  our  souls  the  lost  Tannhauser,  seeking  vain,  with 

grief  untold, 

The  One  Faith  of  peace  and  rest; 
Till  unto  their  painted  idols  they  despairing  turn 

at  last — 
Gods  of  Pleasure.  Fame,  or  Gold? 


REVISITED. 

CHICAGO,  1871. 

DOWN  -  FALLEN,  the  Trojan's  grand 

Renowned  ancestral  halls 
The  far  world  mourned;  and  her,  Persepolis, 

With  all  her  loveliness, 
And  Carthage  —  touched  as  by  a  wizard  wand; 

And  still  with  grief  recalls 
Rome,  Albion,  aglow, 
The  Crescent's  shrines  laid  low, 
And  her  that  stood  where  Moscow's  temples  stand. 

But  what  are  these  to  me? 

The}'  lighten,  pale,  and  show 
Like  far-off  flaring  of  a  furnace  -  blast  — 

A  pageant  of  the  Past, 
Fearful  and  grand,  flaming  in  History! 

With  thee  it  is  not  so, 
Beloved,  thee  I  knew 
While  yet  thy  days  were  few, 
And  all  thy  greatness  in  the  time  to  be. 


152  REVISITED. 


As  oft  to  ripened  years 

Some  youth  and  maid  unknown 
Together  grow  from  childhood's  summers  brief. 

Till  one  in  joy  or  grief 
That  evermore  them  each  to  each  endears, 

Have  we  together  grown ; 
But  oh!  as  he  that  goes. 
Whose  fond  heart  thrills  and  glows, 
Hiding  the  pain  of  love's  delicious  fears.  — 


Joyous,  find  bearing  thence 

Treasured  affections  old, 
Lit  with  the  brightness  of  one  form  and  face, 

Returning,  finds  each  grace 
And  beauty  withered  by  the  pestilence, 

Sad  weeping  unconsoled, 
Deplores  and  mourns  in  vain: 
Snch  is  my  bosom -pain. 
Finding  in  all  my  loss  110  recompense. 


In  anguish  prone  I  wait 

Where  ruins  strew  the  plains  — 
Where  smoldering  heaps  the  wealth -bethronging  mart 

By  fallen  shrines  of  Art. 
Oblivioned  tomes,  and  hearthstones  desolate; 


REVISITED.  153 


Religion's  fallen  fanes, 
And  Learning's  halls  o'erthrown; 
By  trees  stripped,  blackened,  lone, 
Dead  —  monuments  of  a  relentless  Fate ! 


Oh.  who  can  paint  the  gloom  — 

The  woe  that  on  thee  fell, 
When  onward  bore  the  fright  -  bewildered  throng, 

A  hundred  thousand  strong! 
Forlorn,  and  fleeing  from  a  fiery  doom, 

As  from  the  flames  of  Hell ! 
Treasures  that  toil  had  wrought  — 
Treasures  of  gold  unbought, 
Buried  in  indistinguishable  tomb! 


And  how  aghast  and  dumb 

We  stood,  when  from  the  Pit 
Vile  demons  rose;  bore  high  with  maniac  hand 

The  all  -  devouring  brand! 
With  pillage,  hate.  —  fell  brood  of  lust  and  rum 

More  wide  thy  horror  lit; 
As  if  foul  fiends,  accursed 
Of  God  and  man,  had  burst 
The  fiery  gates  of  Pandemonium! 

20 


154  REVISITED. 

We  hark  the  bell  that  tolls 

Thy  fallen  fame — but  tongue 
Can  never  tell  thy  tale  of  miseries, 

Of  awful  tragedies; 
Of  martyrdoms  no  poet's  pen  enrolls; 

Of  noble  deeds  unsung- : 
Of  thy  uncoffined  dead; 
Thy  living  hosts  that  tread 
Serene  the  heights,  with  all  heroic  sonls! 


As  unto  her  that  grieves 

Less  for  her  pain  than  his. 
The  lover's  —  he,  alas!  who  can  but  miss 

Her  dower  of  loveliness  — 
Our  pity  yearns,  and  quick  each  want  relieves 

With  thousand  charities; 
Brings  for  love's  deeper  needs 
Kind  words  and  gentle  deeds, 
And  thus,  in  little  part,  her  loss  retrieves :  — 


So.  with  one  heart  amain. 

In  tender  sympathies, 
To  thee  the  people  of  all  tongues  and  lands 

Have  stretched  full,  pitying  hands: 
Anon  have  sought  to  soothe  thy  poignant  pain 


REVISITED.  155 

With  all  sweet  ministries; 
Until  our  souls  go  out 
To  ask,  not  all  in  doubt, 
If  in  this  fiery  wrath  be  more  of  loss  or  gain. 


Can  aught  again  restore 

The  old-time  beauty?     No. 
Ah,  me !     Howbeit,  the  soul  that  fair  arrayed 

In  every  grace  the  maid, 
Still  lives  as  when  those  outward  charms  it  wore; 

And  Love,  bewailing  so, 
Beholding  how  of  pain 
Is  wrought  the  spirit's  gain, 
At  length  is  comforted,  and  weeps  no  more. 


And  thou  that  wert  so  fair, 

And  now  low  in  the  dust, 
Bearing  thy  weight  of  grief — thy  grime  and  stain. 

Without  complaint  of  pain; 
With  hands  still  quick  to  do,  as  heart  to  dare  — 

Strong  in  all  toil  and  trust ; 
I  see  thee,  sorely  tried, 
Uprising  purified, 
And  hope  again  is  born  of  my  despair. 


156  REVISITED. 

Shall  not  the  near  years  show 

Thee  crowned  and  lovely  —  nay. 
Fairer  than  in  thy  maiden  beauty  brief  ? 
And  we,  erelong  our  grief 
Outworn  —  what  time  the  harvest  sheaves  of  woe 

We  reap  —  shall  we  not  say, 
Recalling  without  pain 
Our  anguish,  '"  then  in  vain 
We  wept  and  mourned  —  but  it  wa*i  better  so  "? 


Alas!  we  only  see 

Dimly  —  and  darkly  spell 
In  pain  and  loss,  above  all  cant  or  creed 
Sermons  we  can  but  heed; 
Oh,  for  the  faith  that  One,  whatever  be, 

Doth  order  all  things  well! 
We  feel  —  we  do  not  know  — 
It  somehow  must  be  so: 
Our  loss  be  still  thy  gain,  Humanity! 


MINE    OWN. 

THOU  who  turnest,  sore  and  fainting, 
From  life's  discord,  clang,  and  jar, 
Weary  longing  for  thine  own, 
Like  a  bird  its  sorrow  plainting, 

Singing  lone 
In  the  wilderness  afar;  — 
Spirit  that  with  mine  is  waiting 

Spirit  -  mating, 
Kindled  at  a  kindred  star;  — 


0  Beloved!  that  didst  lighten 

To  my  childhood  —  that  didst  show 

Like  a  beacon  far  away, 
And  that  evermore  didst  brighten 

Day  by  day 

With  my  youth's  inteiiser  glow, 
Still  the  dreams  of  an  aspiring- 
Manhood  firing, 
Thou  dost  more  a  beauty  grow. 


158  MINK  orr.v. 


And  a  deeper  joy  divining: 

Though  we  wander  wide  apart. 

Seeking  vain  love's  peace  and  rest, 
( )ft  I  feel  thy  arras  entwining  — 

In  my  breast 

Feel  the  throbbing  of  thy  heart; 
And  T  see  in  all  transcendent 

Forms  resplendent  — 
See  the  loveliness  thon  art. 


Nature,  smiling,  ever  drew  me, 
As  if  hiding  thee,  my  bride; 

Garlanded  with  graces  rare, 
Thee  the  lilies  show  unto  me, 

Passing  fair; 

Thee  the  violets  bashful  hide; 
And  the  rose,  all  sweets  innrning, 

Crimson  burning, 
With  thy  blushes,  love,  is  dyed. 


Oft  I  see  thee  darkly,  dwelling 

In  the  Spring-time's  greenery; 

In  the  Summer's  anthem -song 
Love  soft  murmurs,  of  thee  telling 

All  day  long  — 


MIX/-;  OWN. 

Charms  the  night'-!  serenity; 
Wakes  in  orison  and  idyl. 

Hymn  and  bridal 
Of  the  woodland  minstrelsy. 

And  thy  heart  is  beauty  -  haunted : 
Thou,  thy  fainting  bosom  fanned 

With  a  breath  from  Eden  -  climes, 
Too  dost  tread  the  realm  enchanted;  — 

Hark  the  chimes 
From  that  far  celestial  land ! 
Thrilling  to  the  fervid  grasping, 

Hallowed  clasping 
Of  a  dear  love -plighted  hand. 

Hope,  unto  the  new  day  turning, 

Plumes  her  joy -empurpled  wings, 

Far  outsoaring  ill  and  strife; 
Or  to  charm  the  maiden,  yearning 

To  the  wife, 

At  Love's  altar  sits  and  sings 
Of  two  lives  to  one  inblending  — 
Still  ascending, 

0 

Soaring  unto  higher  things. 


160  MINE   OWN. 


And  some  gleam  perchance  just  stealing 
Faintly  on  life's  widening  skies, 

That  with  mystic  glory  shine. 
Kindles  like  the  dawn,  revealing  — 

Bliss  divine!  — 
Baby  lips  and  cherub  eyes; 
Half  disclosing  and  yet  hiding 

Joys  abiding 
From  a  sinless  paradise. 


Dost  thou  startle  at  the  vision? 

And  why  not  thou,  darling,  find 

Love's  high  destiny  and  good? 
Realize  the  dream  elysian  — 

Motherhood  — 

In  thy  woman's  breast  enshrined : 
The  one  marvel  of  all  story. 

The  one  glory, 
The  one  crown  of  Womankind. 


Yet  through  weary  paths  and  lonely, 
And  with  brambles  overgrown, 

Should  we  wander  wide  apart. 
Finding  each  the  other  only 

In  a  heart 


MINE  OWN.  161 


Beating  loyal  to  its  own; 
Though  we  wait  as  we  have  waited  — 

All  unmated 
Tread  the  wide,  wide  world  alone;  — 


0  Beloved!  undespairing, 

Let  our  faith  be  strong  to  win ;  — 

Life  is  brief,  but  Love  is  long! 
All  the  ills  the  trouble  -  bearing- 
Ages  throng, 

Error,  anguish,  wrong,  and  sin, 
Shall  not  lovers  leal  dissever  — 

Part  forever 
Those  who  are  the  true  -  akin. 


Let  Time  bar  our  souls  asunder; 
Let  the  years  be  sorrow -sown; 

Let  all  meaner  joys  depart;  — 
In  Love's  bright  imperial  Yonder, 

Heart  to  heart 

I  shall  clasp  thee,  dear  Unknown ! 
Every  charm  and  grace  arrayed  in, 

Peerless  maiden, 
I  shall  come  unto  MINE  OWN! 

21 


IDLE    HOURS. 


METHOUGHT  I  had  been  idle  all  the  day: 
The  plough  was  standing  in  the  furrowed  ground. 
The  sickle  hanging  where  the  sheaf  was  bound; 

While  listless  basking  in  the  Summer  ray. 
Soft  -  tempered  by  o'erarching  boughs  that  hung 
In  fragrant  tassels  where  the  violets,  sprung, 

The  daylight's  golden  sands  had  run  away. 

Yet  now  with  joy  I  see,  in  after  time, 
That  much  was  won  in  that  unnoted  hour: 
The  treasures  of  the  world  of  thought  and  power  — 

The  chastened  beauty  of  the  true  sublime  — 
The  ceaseless  plodding  worldling  never  finds; 
For  only  in  a  tranquil  moment  binds 

The  spell  that  wakes  the  Minstrel's  mystic  chime. 


WAITED    FOR. 


SPRING'S  darling  blossoms  in  their  loamy  prison 
Sleeping  in  tiny  buds  beneath  the  snow, 
Though  darkly  buried  in  the  mould  below, 
Feeling  the  warmth  of  fervid  suns  unrisen, 

They,  yearning,  throb  and  glow: 
So.  dearest,  hidden  from  all  outward  seeing, 

My  heart  fore -felt  thy  love,  until  it  grew 
A  conscious  presence  to  my  inner  being 
Ere  yet  thy  form  I  knew. 


As  oft,  while  yet  the  chilling  glooms  encumber. 
We  feel  the  breath  of  Summer  days  to  be, 
So  was  it,  love,  when  first  I  looked  on  thee; 
My  soul  leaped  up  —  breaking  its  icy  slumber — 

0  fateful  prophecy! 
As  when  we  hear  the  early  partridge  drumming, 

Or  the  first  cuckoo  on  the  hills  away, 
Thrilling,  it  cried  —  "  Surely  the  Spring  is  coming, 
And  cannot  long  delay." 


164  WAITED  FOR. 

And  now  are  overpassed  the  wintry  shadows; 
Now  all  about  us  is  the  balmy  air 
Of  orchards  reddening  in  the  May -day  fair; 
And  like  to  fragrant  groves  and  thymy  meadows 

The  hearts  our  bosoms  bear; 
Dreaming  sweet  dreams,  dear  as  the  dreams  of  heaven. 

Singing  love's  old  immortal  rapture  -  rune : 
Like  bees  late  drowsing  in  the  flowers  at  even, 
Droning  a  blissful  tune. 


0  peace  and  rest!  what  after  long  delaying 
Is  to  the  thirsty  earth  the  copious  rain, 
Love  is  to  aching  heart  and  tired  brain; 
Time's  barren  waste,  to  vernal  impulse  swaying. 

Fresh  -  ventured,  smiles  again : 
The  quickened  fields  afar,  soft  -  greening,  brighten: 

In  the  new  day  the  mountains  stand  impearled: 
A  sun  new -risen,  a  new  world  to  lighten  — 
And  ours  that  newer  world. 


0  Love  divine !  in  thy  glad  realm  eternal 
Can  ever  be  or  pain  or  want  or  fear? 
Nay — we  would  hold  this  failing  life  too  dear, 

Flesh -hab'ited.  to  taste  the  joy  supernal 
Of  thy  transcendent  sphere. 


WAITED  FOB.  165 


Yet  seems  this  purer  air  a  rapt  inhaling, 
In  little  part,  of  the  ethereal  breath 
From  climes  beyond  —  our  outer  senses  failing  - 
What  blindly  we  call  Death. 


Deep  in  the  bud.  its  beauty  -  dream  confessing, 
There  hides  a  glory  and  a  mystery  — 
A  promise  of  the  fruitage  yet  to  be : 
So  may  love  ripen  into  priceless  blessing, 

Beloved,  for  thee  and  me; 
Of  blossoms  withered,  with  hope  buried  lying 
In  graves  that  vainly  did  my  tears  bedew. 
May  this  new  Summer  of  the  heart,  undying. 
All  the  lost  bloom  renew. 


And  when,  albeit  bearing  the  heat  and  burden 

Of  the  fierce  noontide  with  its  grime  and  moil. 
Wide  sowing,  haply  into  fallow  soil, 
The  seeds  of  Truth  —  waiting  the  harvest -guerdon: 

For  all  the  long  day's  toil 
May  each  the  other  strengthen  and  embolden. 

In  every  high  endeavor  hand  in  hand; 
Till  in  Life's  field  the  ripened  sheaves  stand  golden 
O'er  all  the  Autumn -land. 


UNDER    THE    OAKS. 

0  CALM  retreat!  0  love  -  delighted  bowers! 
Where  not  alone  the  woodbine  twines  and  blooms, 
But  all  ideal  beauty  lights  the  glooms; 

Where  Poesy  —  that  inspiration  dowers 
And  genius  nurtures  in  the  mind  and  heart, 
Till  grown  to  forms  of  high  creative  Art  — 

Yields  rare  delight  through  all  the  tranquil  hours, 

The  happy  idle  hours !     0  moments  blest ! 

0  solitudes  instinct  with  higher  life 

To  medicine  the  soul  —  its  care  and  strife, 

Its  low  desires,  its  prone  world-weary  quest.— 
When  in  your  sacred  haunts  of  wood  and  glen 

1  respite  seek  from  toil,  oh  yield  again 

A  joy  beyond — those  sweeter  fruits  of  Kest! 


UNANSWERED    LETTERS. 


As  he  that  looks  with  longing  eye 

Across  the  blue  seas,  tempest -tossed, 
Lone  shipwrecked  on  a  barren  coast, 

To  see  some  hope -winged  bark  go  by, 

Or  he  the  Stygian  waters  nigh  — 
A  wandering  ghost, 

May  longing  wait,  and  waiting  tire,— 

So  do  we  watch,  in  vain  desire, 
Day  after  day,  an  empty  Post. 


And  sorely  vexed  with  jealousy, 

We  feed  the  vagrant  thoughts  that  bring 
Love's  unrequited  smart  and  sting: 
"My  friend  no  longer  cares  for  me; 
An  idle  dream  that  we  might  see 

In  anything 

The  self -same  beauty  —  cease  to  mourn 
A  feeble  friendship  overworn, 

Nor  nurse  the  faded  flowers  of  Spring." 


168  UNANSWERED  LETTERS. 


Or  marvel  if  our  last,  inissent, 

Still  keeps  its  ardent  message  sealed; 

Or  feeling's  fervid  page  revealed 
Some  folly,  though  for  wisdom  meant; 
Or  sigh,  "  Alas,  if  love  be  spent 
Or  hearts  congealed!" 
Howbeit,  only  this  is  known: 
Our  friendship's  fairy  garden  grown, 

So  all  too  soon,  a  barren  field. 


The  while  perchance  our  waiting  friend, 
Grown  sick  with  joy  delayed,  nor  gets 
The  long  expected  missive,  frets: 
U0  love  —  our  being's  sum  and  end! 
Why  still  these  precious  moments  lend 

To  vain  regrets, 

Or  dream  some  other  may  be  true? 
No  more  shall  life  its  faith  renew 
In  other  men,  if  he  forgets ! 

t%0  doubt  that  deepens  more  my  woe! 

Had  I  the  trust,  undimmed  of  fears. 

That  his  the  love  Time  but  endears, 
That  burns  with  an  unfailing  glow, 
How  would  I  all  this  care  forego  — 


UNANSWERED  LETTERS.  169 

This  grief  and  tears! 
To  know  his  heart  still  all  my  own, 
I  in  this  darkened  world  alone 

Would  wait  content  a  thousand  years." 

So  longing  on  we  faint  and  tire: 

And  is  this  priceless  good  we  wait  — 
Some  friend  with  every  mood  to  mate, 

But  offspring  of  a  vain  desire? 

Or  love  to  which  our  souls  aspire. 
Or  soon  or  late 

May  yet  our  famished  bosoms  know  ? 

Aye,  nevermore  to  miss  thee  so. 

Companion  of  the  heavenly  state! 

The  gem  the  briny  ocean  urns 

Still  bears,  though  hid,  its  ruby  ray; 
Though  storms  enshroud  the  orb  of  day, 

Behind  the  cloud  the  sunlight  burns;  — 

Our  friend,  if  true,  still  loves  and  yearns, 
Though  far  away; 

And  if  our  waiting  hearts  but  keep 

Their  faith,  a  fuller  joy  shall  heap 
The  measure  of  love's  long  delay, 

22 


COMPENSATIONS 


THE  clime  whose  skies  are  ever  clear 
Through  all  the  swiftly  circling  year, 
Unknown  to  gloom  of  Winter  drear, 

The  ever -shading  palm  may  show; 

And  there  the  fig  and  olive  grow, 

And  spicy  breezes  gently  blow, 
And  downy  blooms  do  softly  lie 
On  all  things,  charming  sense  and  eye 

With  Beauty's  fadeless  show. 


But  where  through  many  a  dreary  day 
The  Frost  King  holds  unyielding  sway  — 
Where,  far  aslant,  the  beams  of  day 

With  shining  on  the  glittering  snow 

Can  wake  no  warm  and  kindling  glow; 

Where  storm  above  and  storm  below 
Do  darken  o'er  the  saddened  plain 
With  frosty  mist  or  sleety  rain 

Or  cloud  of  drifting  snow,  — 


COMPENSATIONS.  171 


There  strength  is  found  with  wisdom  wed, 
The  lightest  foot,  the  firmest  tread, 
And  there  the  truest  hearts  are  bred; 
And  there  the  earth  in  bounty  rears 
The  frugal  corn's  most  golden  ears, 
And  there  the  wheaten  sheaf  appears; 
There  Plenty  cumbers  all  the  ground 
With  luscious  fruits,  the  sweetest  found; 
There  Art  her  temple  rears. 


So  hold  thy  way;  in  heart  be  strong, 
Though  evil  hosts  do  round  thee  throng 
Of  sorrow,  disappointment,  wrong; 
These  are  the  Winters  of  thy  life, 
With  hidden  wealth  of  promise  rife;  — 
So  shrink  not  from  the  peril -strife, 
And  Autumn's  store  shall  yet  be  thine, 
And  Peace  serenely  on  thee  shine 

Through  long  bright  Summer -life. 


HOME. 

How  many  a  charm  within  the  precinct  lies 
Of  one's  own  home — all  hid  to  stranger  eyes; 

In  every  spot  some  beauty -shrine  is  reared  — 
In  garden  walk,  though  flower  and  bloom  be  flown. 
In  wildwood  sacred  haunt,  though  drear  and  lone: 
Though  sings  chill  Winter  with  a  sorrow  -tone 
Among  the  leafless  branches  sad  and  seared: 
Oh,  whatso'er  affection  hath  endeared, 
Embalmed  in  beauty  lies. 

How  full  the  joy  when  each  familiar  scene, 
In  frosty  robe  or  vernal  mantle  green. 

Takes  form  and  semblance  of  our  inner  life; 
When  thrilling  tones  of  melody  and  song 
In  gentle  hearts  for  love  and  duty  strong, 
Swell  high  and  free  and  gladsome  all  day  long. 

Till  stilled  are  throbbings  of  each  hidden  strife: 
While  all  the  solemn  night-time  hours  are  rife 
With  radiant  thought  and  scene. 


THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

ALL  my  life  long  have  I  liarkened 
To  a  voiceless  melody  — 

To  a  subtle  music  fine ; 
Dimly,  as  in  shadow  darkened, 

A  divine 

Peerless  form  afar  I  see, 
That  anon  more  nearly  smiling. 

Me  beguiling, 
Still  forevermore  doth  flee. 


Like  the  Summer  charms  adorning 
Regal  nature  everywhere 

In  a  fadeless  tropic  land, 
Like  the  glory  of  the  morning 

Rising  grand, 
Oft  it  shiiieth  passing  fair; 
When  I  reach  a  hand  to  grasp  it, 

Ere  I  clasp  it 
All  again  is  empty  air. 


174  THE    BEAUTIFUL. 


Yet  in  endless  beauty -dreaming, 
Do  I  bear  a  heart  and  mind 

Haunted  by  that  vision  vain ; 
Turn  I  from  each  vanished  seeming 

Yet  again 

To  that  good  I  fail  to  find, 
As  a  dying  soul  unshriveii 

To  the  heaven 
Where  all  Perfectness  is  shrined. 


I  would  bear  of  human  sorrow 

Every  mortal  pang  and  throe  — 

111  and  loss  and  pain  and  wrong  - 
Could  my  heart  the  solace  borrow 

That  ere  long, 

As  the  swift  years  come  and  go. 
I  shall  clasp,  no  more  to  sever  — 

Mine  forever — 
Thee,  the  Beautiful  I  know! 

I  would  dare,  like  pilgrim  hoary, 

Summers  sun  and  Winter's  rain, 

Homeless,  weary,  woeful,  wan, 
With  unsandalled  feet  and  gory, 
On  and  on,  — 


THE    BEAUTIFUL.  175 

Recking  not  of  braise  and  blain, 
To  this  Mecca  that  I  ponder 

Would  I  wander 
Over  seas  of  trackless  plain. 

I  would  dive  with  heart  undaunted 
To  old  Ocean's  roaring  caves  — 

Storm  -em billowed,  terror-  gloomed : 
Fearless  tread,  though  darkness -haunted, 

Dread  -  entombed, 
Earth's  Gethsemane  of  graves;  — 
Aye!  wherever  I  could  find  it, 

Hold  and  bind  it, 
That  my  yearning  spirit  craves. 

I  would  brave  ensanguined  battle 
On  the  reddest  field  of  strife; 

For  the  conflict  fierce  arrayed, 
Eager  grasp  the  glittering  metal, 

Undismayed 

In  the  hour  with  carnage  rile; 
Shrinking  not  from  any  daring. 

To  thee  bearing — 
More  than  lover,  bride,  or  wife. 


176  THE    BEAUTIFUL. 


I  would  trace  the  fiery  fountains 
Of  Sahara's  desert  sand  — 

All  life's  pulses  fever -fed; 
Climb  the  glaring  glacier  mountains, 

Looming  dread 
O'er  the  Arctic's  frozen  land; 
Track  the  homeless  tides  that  moan  on, 

Breaking  lone  on 
Chartless  leagues  of  barren  strand. 


On  from  world  to  world  a -winging, 
Where  more  mellow  moonlight  lies 

The  more  tranquil  seas  along; 
Whither  new-born  stars  are  singing 

A  new  song, 

And  more  radiant  suns  uprise; 
Unto  constellations  nightly 
Burning  brightly 
In  the  depths  of  stranger  skies ;  — 

Roam  the  boundless  ether  meadows 
That  the  starry  hosts  adorn  — 

Boundless  as  Eternity! 
High  above  these  twilight  shadows 
Would  I  flee, 


THE    BEAUTIFUL.  177 

Out  beyond  this  mortal  bourne,  — 
Could  I  find  the  realm  transcendent 

Where  resplendent 
Hides  the  Beautiful  I  mourn. 


Vision  vain!  —  why  should  I  wander. 

Sore  with  penance,  pain,  and  prayer, 

Bearing  an  immortal  dream  ? 
Well  I  know  the  Good  I  ponder — 

Darkly  deem. 
Is  not  outward  anywhere: 
Only  in  the  heavens  supernal 

Far,  eternal 
Dwells  the  One  divinely  fair. 


MOTHERHOOD. 

IN  Life's  wondrous  gardens  grow 

Vestal  lilies,  snowy  white; 
Roses  flushed  with  morning  glow  — 

Flowers,  the  loving  heart's  delight: 
Lowly  pansies  blooming  fair — 

Many  a  beauty's  opening  bud; 
But  the  charms  beyond  compare, 

Crown  thee,  beauteous  Motherhood! 

Let  my  fevered  lip  be  fanned 

By  the  breath  of  loveliness: 
Let  the  tenderest  maiden  hand 

Clasp  my  own  in  dear  caress; 
Light  a  heaven  with  starry  eyes; 

Still  my  heart,  all  unsubdued, 
Bears  its  purest  sacrifice 

Unto  queenly  Motherhood. 


MOTHERHOOD.  179 

Blushing  bosom,  budding  warm. 

Though  it  deepest  rapture  shed, 
Ever  wears  its  sweetest  charm 

Pillowing  dainty  baby  head;  — 
See,  while  honeyed  lips  express 

Softly  their  delicious  food, 
Tiny  fingers  fond  caress 

Bounteous  breast  of  Motherhood. 

Heavenly  look  of  cherub  eyes  — 

Pair,  oh  passing  fair  to  see; 
Angels,  only  in  disguise, 

Though  they  know  it  less  than  we:  — 
Who  from  these  may  coldly  turn, 

Nor  with  loftier  love  subdued, 
Feel  his  quickened  being  yearn 

To  thee,  saintly  Motherhood? 

Thou  who  bear'st  in  virgin  breast 

Happy  heart  unwed  to  care, 
Joyous  in  its  loving  quest, 

Whom  thy  mirror  counteth  fair,  — 
Maiden,  matron -life  is  thine, 

Thine  for  evil  or  for  good; 
Most  in  this  thy  virtues  shine  — 

Miracle  of  Motherhood! 


THE    IMAGE -BREAKER. 

THOUGH  hushed  since  Delphi's  tragic  doom 
Each  mighty  oracle's  response, 
Though  every  magic  shape  that  haunts 

The  dusk  of  intervening  gloom 

Be  silent  —  nor  the  shrouding  tomb 

Give  answer  to  Love's  yearning  wants,— 

Oh,  spare  those  idols  of  the  Past 

Whose  lips  are  dumb,  whose  eyes  are  dim: 

Truth's  diadem  is  not  for  him 
That  comes  the  fierce  Iconoclast; 
Who  wakes  the  battle's  stormy  blast, 

Hears  not  the  angels'  choral  hymn. 

In  any  creed,  no  heart -full  prayer 

To  faithful  devotee  is  lost; 

Though  dread -engloomed,  and  error -crossed. 
Whate'er  doth  fruits  of  mercy  bear, 
Is  true; — for  this  each  error  spare, 

Nor  heap  a  common  holocaust. 


THE  IMAGE  -  BREAKER.  181 

The  faith  that  lights  the  pilgrim's  way 

To  loving  Heaven  —  though  not  for  you 
Its  truth,  to  him  must  needs  be  true; 

The  rose  that  newly  blooms  to-day 

Is  pencilled  by  the  primal  ray: 

The  New  is  old  —  the  Old  is  new. 

And  if  thy  path  no  longer  lies 

Through  spirit  -  haunts  of  moor  and  feu. — 

If.  as  of  old  to  prophet  ken. 
To  thee  the  hills  of  Canaan  rise, 
With  broader  fields  and  ampler  skies, 

And  peopled  wide  with  holy  men,— 

Remember  still  in  charity, 

Thy  brother's  need  is  not  as  thine; 

Or,  conning  deep  each  darker  line, 
You  too  may  find  the  mystic  key 
To  every  ward  of  mystery. 

And  see  in  all  a  Truth  Divine. 


TOO    LATE. 

To  every  wrong- 
Not  one  —  unnumbered  penalties  belong; 

We  expiate 
Our  deed  with  painful  penitential  tears, 

To  find,  too  late, 

Thick  in  the  breast  the  old  avengers  throng; 
Part  of  that  wages  dread  —  the  after  years1 
Remembrances  of  wrong. 

There  came  a  youth 
To  me  long  days  agone;  in  form  uncouth. 

His  brow  sun -tanned, 
Home -spun  his  coat,  his  garments  all  adust, 

His  bony  hand 

Just  from  the  plough;  but  with  the  sun  of  Truth 
Full  on  a  manly  face,  lit  with  the  trust 
And  the  great  heart  of  youth. 


TOO  LATE.  183 

And  I  recall 
The  words  he  spake;  —  if  they  have  turned  to  gall, 

Ah  well-a-day! 
We  cannot  always  keep  an  equal  mind; 

What  we  should  say, 
Alas,  too  oft  we  leave  unsaid,  and  all 

We  should  not  say — the  careless  words  unkind  — 
In  vain  we  would  recall. 

"They  tell  me,  Sir, 
That  you  a  Poet  are, — your  songs  do  stir 

The  hearts  of  men: 
I  too  have  rhymes:  if  they  be  good  or  ill 

I  cannot  ken; 

And  you  will  tell  me  —  if  I  do  not  err — 
If  there  be  aught  in  these  of  poet  skill 
Or  promise,  noble  Sir." 

I  made  reply 
Unto  that  ardent  youth  of  purpose  high, 

In  cold  disdain: 
"  Of  songs,'1  I  said,  "  the  world  has  all  too  much;" 

As  counting  vain 

His  proffered  rhymes,  I  pushed  them  idly  by ; 
Him  grudged  the  little  courtesy — if  such — 
Wherewith  I  made  reply. 


184  TOO   LATE. 

More  cruel,  said: 
uDo  you  not  see  that  men  have  need  of  bread? 

Seek  not  to  win 
A  good  whereto  the  strongest  strive  in  vain; 

The  path  wherein 

Our  feet  have  trodden  long,  we  easy  tread ; 
Late  from  the  farm,  I  see:  —  return  again 
Unto  the  farm,1'  I  said. 

And  what  is  fame 
To  the  dull  eye,  cold  heart,  ignoble  aim  ?  — 

That  youthful  brow. 
While  yet  I  spake,  lit  with  a  purpose  true.— 

T  see  it  now  — 

Flashed  through  the  tan  a  beam  of  living  flame: 
A  blush  of  shame  —  but  oh.  a  blush  that  grew 
Into  immortal  Fame. 

So  late — so  late, 
To  learn  what  is  ignoble,  what  is  great; 

So  slow  to  see 
Thought  built  the  world,  must  build  the  world  anew; 

The  Poet,  he 

The  re-creator  is  whom  all  things  wait:-*- 
Recalling  oft  that  youth,  that  poet  true, 
I  sigh,  "  Alas,  too  late!" 


HOME    FROM    THE    WAK. 

JULY  4TH,  1865. 

THE  round  globe  turns  unto  the  sun; 

The  woods  in  waiting  reverence  lean; 

The  far  rejoicing  hills  between, 

The  rivers  run; 
The  golden  dawn  and  twilight  dun 

Weave  wide  their  Summer  robe  of  green 

The  earth  is  thick  with  beauty  sown; 
The  Seasons,  as  they  onward  wing, 
The  promise  still  of  plenty  bring  — 
Of  harvests  grown: 

Though  priceless  wealth  in  these  we  own. 
To-day  joy  hath  a  deeper  spring. 

Through  all  the  wide  rejoicing  land 

We  give  with  eager  hearts  unbound 
Unto  our  heroes,  laurel  Crowned. 
A  loving  hand; 

That  come,  a  scarred  and  noble  band, 

From  many  a  crimson  field  renowned. 

24 


186  HOME   FROM   THE    WAR. 

And  let  the  farthest  minster -dome 

Loud  clang  a  mighty  greeting  forth; 
Ring  east  and  west,  ring  south  and  north 
A  welcome  home 

To  all  whose  fearless  feet  have  clomb 

To  radiant  heights  of  truth  and  worth. 

Yet  not  alone  for  wild  alarms 

Of  deadly  conflict  heard  no  more, 
The  bugle's  call,  the  cannon's  roar, 
The  clash  of  arms,— 

Nor  yet  to  clasp  the  manly  forms 

That  foremost  in  the  battle  bore ;  — 

Nor  yet  alone  for  victory  bought 

Where  free  the  crimson  current  ran, 
Our  hearts  rejoice; — for  love  of  man 
In  deeds  enwrought! 

A  fadeless  iris,  glory -fraught, 

That  far  shall  coming  ages  span. 

For  this,  our  Nation's  starry  goal, 

Though  reached  through  fiery  martyrdom. 
For  Freedom's  lifeless  form  become 
A  living  soul ! 

That  while  the  circling  seasons  roll, 

No  more  shall  outraged  Truth  be  dumb. 


HOME  FROM   THE    WAR.  187 

And  for  a  lowly  race  arrayed 
In  manhood's  regal  majesty, 
Their  native  cane -fields  tilling  free 
And  unafraid; 

For  Peace  with  deep  foundations  laid 
In  righteousness,  and  Liberty. 

Though  mourning  still  our  patriots  gone. 
This  faith  a  nation's  tears  shall  stay: 
From  fields  still  red  with  battle  fray 
Their  feet  withdrawn, 

They  climb  the  radiant  hills  of  dawn, 
That  beacon  on  the  coming  day. 


BELOVED. 

THY  love  to  me  —  like  gentle  Summer  rain 

Is  the  outpouring  of  thy  love  to  me. 
When  full  libations  o'er  the  parched  plain 
Shower  copious  and  free. 

Thy  love  to  me  —  like  the  deep  hidden  springs 

That  from  the  hills  in  cooling  freshness  burst. 
More  pure  the  wave  its  sparkling  fountain  brings 
To  quench  my  spirit -thirst. 

Thy  love  to  me  —  like  the  soft  mystic  chime 

That  murmurs  to  us  in  the  twilight  dim; 
A  voice  glad  singing  of  the  coming  time  — 
My  heart's  perpetual  hymn. 

Thy  love  to  me  —  like  the  meek  stars  that  shine 

From  the  far -glowing  galaxy  of  night: 
Only  the  brightness  of  these  orbs  is  mine  — 
Those  have  an  alien  light. 


BELOVED.  189 

Thy  love  to  me — no  full,  deep  joy  like  this, 

In  the  wild  fervor  that  ray  heart  hath  known; 
The  large  fulfilment  of  my  dreams  of  bliss 
Through  weary  years  and  lone. 

Thy  love  for  me — still  present  though  unseen; 

Though  lengthening  miles  must  long  between  us  lie. 
Nor  time  can  part,  nor  distance  intervene: 
I  feel  thee  ever  nigh. 

And  still  more  nigh,  as  still  more  wholly  mine  — 

I  still  more  thine  becoming  day  by  day, 
Until  the  sun  shall  undivided  shine 

That  lights  our  severed  way. 


WORK. 

'  Tis  much  to  know  in  life  our  proper  task, 
Yet  more  to  do,  when  well  we  know  onr  work; 
Into  Life's  harvest  none  are  sent  to  shirk  — 

Of  others'  toil  the  gifts  of  labor  ask; 
Why  should  I  beg?  —  couldst  give  me  all  the  wealth 

Of  all  the  world.  I  might  not  hold  it  fast  — 

I  could  but  die  a  mendicant  at  last. 
It  is  not  mine,  the  gold  I  get  by  stealth : 

Only  in  doing  may  the  arm  grow  strong. 
The  mind  be  strengthened  in  its  own  high  thought; 
And  ours  —  ours  only  what  our  hands  have  wrought, 

The  sole  sure  wages  that  to  Toil  belong. 
Do  then  thy  task,  and  trust  the  gods'  decree, 
That  as  thy  work  thy  recompense  shall  be. 


CHRISTINE. 

SING  us,  0  lady  fair — 

Not  when  afar 
Upon  the  stifled  air 
The  world's  great  anthem  peal  on  peal  resounds  — 

A  lowly  song;  —  not  mid  the  din  and  jar 
Of  the  deep  organ -swells  that  blend  and  pour 
In  one  grand  symphony 
All  waves  of  sound 

From  full  orchestra  borne,  like  billows'  roar 
When  tempests  lash  the  sea. 

Sing  us  the  simple  lays, 
Home  -  ballads,  born 
In  the  dim  mythic  days, 
Of  mountain,  sea,  and  river,  wood  and  fell; 

The  Folk  -  songs  old,  that  never  are  outworn ! 
So  to  our  children  when  the  years  shall  wane, 
At  twilight -fall  serene 

Oft  may  we  tell 

Of  the  sweet  Singer  from  across  the  main  — 
Of  her,  the  fair  Christine. 


192  CHRISTINE. 

Sing  us  old  waifs  of  song 

From  Runic -writ, 
That  to  the  scenes  belong 
Now  far  away  —  such  as  in  years  agone 

Delighted  homely  labors  —  charmed  and  lit 
The  fagot -bearing  woods  of  Wexio; 

What  time,  with  joyance  rare, 

At  peep  of  dawn, 

Arrayed  in  home -wrought  kirtle  thou  didst  go 
Elate  to  Ljugby  Fair. 

Sing  us  of  childhood's  hour 

That  comes  no  more; 
Of  all  the  wondrous  dower 
Of  aspirations  high  —  the  longings  wild 

To  know,  to  be,  to  do,  to  sing  and  soar. 
To  climb  unto  a  far-off  shining  goal. 

When  thou  didst  wander  free, 

A  happy  child, 

On  Snioland  hills,  and  feed  thy  hungry  soul 
On  Nature's  minstrelsy. 

Sing  us  of  all  things  fair: 

Sing  us  of  Home! 
Of  hearts  that  nightly  bear 
Yearnings  for  one  beloved  beyond  the  sea, 

Counting  the  days  that  weary  wax  and  gloam; 


CHEISTINE.  193 

Sing  us  of  her  who  with  love's  subtle  art 

Fore -kenned  thy  happier  lot; 

Who  tearfully, 
Stilling  the  throbbing  of  the  mother's  heart, 

Said,  "  Go,  but  ask  me  not! " 

Sing  us  of  Fatherland  — 

0  theme  sublime! 
Some  tale  from  out  the  grand 
Old  Scandinavian  Eddas  that  do  bear 

Lore  from  the  ancient  days  —  the  first  of  Time! 
Some  Saga -song  of  mighty  heroes  dead! 
Of  Vikings  bold  — of  all 
To  Norland  dear,— 

Of  Thor,  of  Odin,  Freya  — all  that  tread 
Walhalla's  shining  hall ! 

Sing  us  of  Love — but  nay! 

Not  for  our  ears 
•  Is  that  sweet  minstrelsy, 
So  dear  with  all  regret;  — from  lips  like  thine, 
That  song  melodious  of  the  coming  years, 
Whose  prelude  murmurs  in  the  lowliest  breast, 
Would  pierce  us  till  we  die;  — 

0  song  divine ! 

Sing  us  of  Hope,  of  Trust,  all  sweet  unrest,  — 
Saddest  of  all  —  good-bye. 


LITTLE    LINNIE. 


Oft  in  griefs  dread  shadow  straying, 

With  a  heart  overbrimming  full, 
Have  I  mourned  the  swift  decaying 

Of  the  loved  and  beautiful ; 
I  have  trod  a  pathway  darkened, 

Trod  it  wearily  and  lone, 
While  I  hearkened,  vainly  hearkened 

For  a  sweetly  vanished  tone; 
But  a  calm  came  with  the  morrow 

To  my  bosom's  heaving  tide, 
For  I  only  dreamed  of  sorrow 

Till  our  Little  Linnie  died. 


LITTLE  LINNIE. 


Though  I  vainly  yearning,  nightly 

Woo  thee  from  the  realm  of  dreams, 
Seek  thy  radiant  footstep  lightly 

Wandering  by  the  crystal  streams, 
See  the  lonely  twilight  darken, 

All  unlit  of  love's  delight, 
Though  still  evermore  to  hearken 

For  thy  nevermore  "good-night;" 
By  the  deeper  love  I  bore  thee 

Than  all  other  love  beside, 
Though  niy  grief  may  not  restore  thee. 

Though  our  Little  Linnie  died; — 


Though  the  ages  may  not  claim  thee 

For  this  darkened  earth  again, 
Though  my  waiting  lip  shall  name  thee 

Long,  and  lovingly,  in  vain; 
I  shall  clasp  my  little  maiden 

In  all  angel  graces  grown, 
If  the  years,  with  sorrow  laden, 

Do  bub  bear  me  to  mine  own; 
Clasp  again  the  early  taken, 

Latest  loved,  love's  only  pride, 
To  this  lorn  heart,  hope  forsaken 

When  our  Little  Linnie  died. 


196  LITTLE   LTNNIE. 


The  dear  azure  heaven  is  shrouded 

Of  those  orbs  of  tender  blue, 
Or  my  own,  with  mists  beclouded, 

They  have  darkened  to  my  view; 
Yet  in  vain  my  sore  repining, 

Howsoever  that  may  be, 
For  if  still  undimmed  their  shining, 

They  are  turned  away  from  me ; 
And  no  solace  can  I  borrow 

From  the  days  that  darkly  glide, 
For  my  first,  last,  only  sorrow, — 

When  our  Little  Linnie  died. 


0!  how  can  I  live  without  thee? 

If  no  more  to  feel  the  twine 
Of  thy  gentle  arms  about  me, 

Or  thy  tiny  hand  in  mine; 
Still  to  miss  thy  soft  caressing 

Through  the  darkened  days  to  be, 
For  thou  wast  the  rarest  blessing 

From  the  angel-life  to  me. 
Only  in  the  heavens  above  me, 

Where  the  Beautiful  abide, 
Were  there  any  more  to  love  me 

When  our  Little  Linnie  died. 


THE    TIME    TO    BE. 

THE  shadows  lengthen  as  the  day 
Declines  along  the  Hesper-rim; 
The  night  draws  on  —  more  faint  and  dim 

Fades  the  last  purple  light  to  gray; 

Yet  starry  hosts  come  out  alway, 
To  echo  on  Creation's  hymn. 

Creation's  hj'inn —  that  first  was  sung 

On  boundless  waste  of  shapeless  gloom. 
When  out  of  Chaos'  quickened  womb 

The  earth  to  orbed  being  sprung; 

While  other  orbs  with  music  rung, 
To  see  the  new-born  light  illume. 

And  what  though  countless  ages  wane. 
The  while  the  Lichen  race  appears; 
At  length  the  mighty  forest  rears, 
And  wide  outspreads  the  verdured  plain 
With  luscious  fruits  and  golden  grain;  — 
Man  crowns  at  last  the  ripened  years. 


198  THE    TIME    TO    BE. 

Though  chill  and  frail  the  Summer  wears, 
Till  into  stormy  Autumn  passed, 
The  sleety  rain,  the  wintry  blast. 

Are  Nature's  need  that  loss  repairs; 

And  Spring  returns  with  balmy  airs 

And  charms  more  mellow  than  the  last. 

And  shall  alone  in  beauty  grow 

These  grosser  outer  things  we  see, 
And  not  our  lives  more  lovely  be 

Throughout  the  years  that  come  and  go? 

Their  brightness  wear  no  deeper  glow, 
What  time  the  circling  seasons  flee? 

Though,  seeming  like  old  Night  to  mock 
All  order  and  all  laws'  control, 
Looms  on  the  dark  the  dawning  soul, 

Yet  shall  the  storm  and  earthquake  shock 

And  lava -fires  subdue  the  rock, 

And  make  its  orb  and  circle  whole. 

And  mantling  over  vale  and  hill, 

The  green  and  tender  blade  shall  spring; 
The  fragrant  bowers  rich  fruitage  bring; 
Each  higher  type  of  life  infill, 
Till  from  the  thought  and  from  the  will 
Dies  out  each  vile  and  creeping  thing. 


THE    TIME    TO    BE.  199 

And  Mind  throughout  an  endless  day 

Shall  range  a  freer,  ampler  scope; 

With  spectral  fear  and  error  cope  — 
Anon  each  ghostly  phantom  lay; 
And  roam  in  joyous  noontide  ray 

Through  paths  wherein  we  darkly  grope. 

The  Inner  Life  shall  know  its  need, 

And  unto  newer  life  be  born; 

From  skies  our  lesser  hopes  adorn 
Shall  fade  in  light  each  darkening  creed, 
As  swift  the  misty  shades  recede 

Along  the  radiant  path  of  morn. 

With  purer  faith  that  upward  leads 

Forever  toward  the  Great  Unknown, 
The  infant  Man,  to  manhood  grown, 

Shall  write  at  length  the  Creed  of  Creeds  — 

A  liturgy  of  nobler  deeds 

Than  yet  this  warrior  -  world  has  known. 

And  other  prophet  -  stars  shall  rise 

And  shine  along  the  Mythic  Page 
That  lives  anew  in  every  age, 

Yet  with  the  dying  ages  dies; 

Wherein  a  deeper  meaning  lies, 

That  ever  waits  the  wiser  Sage. 


THE    TIME    TO  BE. 

'  And  thought  shall  find  a  fuller  speech, 
And  still  to  loftier  thought  attain.— 
And  deeply  -  hidden  truths  made  plain 
More  deeply  hidden  truths  shall  teach: 
As  gazing  from  some  mountain  reach 
We  see  yet  higher  heights  to  gain. 

And  they  whom  selfish  passions  bind. 

To  gentler  sympathy  unknown. 

As  more  of  good  enamored  grown, 
Shall  more  of  good  in  all  things  find, 
And  be  more  kind  unto  their  kind, 

And  each  in  each  a  brother  own. 

And  Freedom,  grown  more  free  and  bold, 

The  whole  wide  world  shall  fearless  tread ; 
And  Science  far  a  glory  shed  — 

Strange  wonders  in  her  light  unfold; 

While  hearts  now  bound  in  lust  of  gold 
Be  unto  holiest  missions  wed. 

And  progress  -  cycles  still  shall  roll, 

Still  unto  rarer  ether  speed: 

Till  Faith  from  cumbering.  Form  be  freed, 
To  see  in  all  the  living  Soul; 
Still  pointing  on  the  better  goal, 

Outgrown  each  grosser  symbol's  need. 


COUSIN    CAROLINE. 

Ere  the  spring-time's  dewy  splendor 

Of  thy  sunny  life  had  passed, 
On  thy  young  hopes,  budding  tender 

Pell  a  breath  of  wintry  blast; 
And  thy  youth  full  early  parted 

From  its  blissful  promise,  thine ; 
Thou  hast  left  us,  gentle-hearted, 

Fragile  cousin  Caroline. 

With  a  heart  untaught  to  murmur, 

Thou  didst  suffer — not  in  vain  ; 
Patient  growing  still,  and  firmer, 

With  thy  still  increasing  pain  ; 
Long  and  weary  years  of  anguish 

Thou  didst  number,  nor  repine, 
Meekly  droop,  and  drooping  languish, 

Lovely  cousin  Caroline. 

26 


202  COUSIN  CAROLINE. 

Grief  our  troubled  bosoms  steeping, 

Oh  !  it  was  a  wintry  day, 
When  thy  spirit  left  us  weeping 

O'er  its  tenement  of  clay ! 
Yet  we  may  not  now  deplore  thee, 

For  life's  better  part  is  thine, 
Where  thy  sister-angels  bore  thee, — 

Our  sweet  cousin  Caroline. 

When  the  frosty  band  shall  lighten 

Binding  hill,  and  vale  and  plain, 
When  the  vernal  hours  shall  brighten 

O'er  the  gladdened  earth  again, 
Who  shall  watch  the  flower  bulb  starting, 

Who  shall  train  the  budding  vine, 
Prom  its  trellis  wayward  parting, 

For  our  cousin  Caroline  ? 

Soon  each  floral  gem  so  cherished, 

Sleeping  in  its  snowy  tomb, 
That,  like  thee,  in  beauty  perished, 

Shall  renew  its  pride  of  bloom  ; 
Though  thy  watchful  care  to  lend  them 

Now  can  never  more  be  thine. 
We,  with  willing  hand,  will  tend  them 

For  our  cousin  Caroline. 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  203 

Though  we  mourn  that  gloom  hath  shrouded 

Friendship's  jeweled  diadem, 
In  celestial  skies  unclouded, 

Shines  another  glory-gem, 
With  a  radiance  unborrowed, 

With  serene,  untroubled  shine  ; 
Thou  hast  found  thy  home  unsorrowed, 

Suffering  cousin  Caroline. 

Oft  in  happy  hours  and  lonely 

We  shall  miss  thy  cheerful  tone, 
Lost  one — lost  ? — no,  parted  only, 

Knowing  thou  art  still  OUK  OWN  ! 
For  thou  wilt  not  cease  to  love  us, 

While  each  radiant  orb  shall  shine 
In  the  starry  heavens  above  us. 

Dearest  cousin  Caroline. 

And  our  weary  steps  do  hasten, 

Journeying  to  that  brighter  shore, 
Where  no  sorrow  comes  to  chasten, 

Chastened,  thou  hast  gone  before; 
We  shall  there,  our  grief  foregoing, 

In  love's  recognition  twine, 
Never  doubting  of  our  knowing 

Thee,  our  cousin  Caroline. 


PARTING    FRIENDS. 

When  the  chosen  Friend,  and  dear, 
Leaves  us  for  some  far-off  land, 

When  unbid  the  falling  tear 
Glistens  on  the  clasping  hand; 

When  the  farewell  murmur  dies, 
And  the  parting  footsteps  press, 

On  our  path  a  shadow  lies, 
On  our  hearts  a  loneliness. 

But  the  cherished  may  come  back, 
And  our  vanished  joy  renew, 

Far  retrace  a  devious  track, 
With  a  love  unchanged  and  true; 

Starry  eyes  that  shed  their  light 
On  the  dark  of  long  ago, 

Shine  more  tenderly  and  bright, 
Kindle  with  serener  glow. 


PARTING  FRIENDS.  205 

When  the  truest,  that  have  been 
With  us  in  the  walks  of  Time, 

Turning  from  its  strife  and  din 
To  the  higher  life  sublime, 

Leave  us, —  though  we  lonely  grope 
In  this  weary  world  behind, — 

Still  we  trtist  the  larger  hope 
With  our  better  being  twined. 

But  when  friends  —  or  counted  such, 
Linked  with  many  a  tender  tie, 

Souls  we  worshiped  overmuch, 
With  an  homage  pure  and  high,— 

Those  we  thought  of  kith  and  kin 
In  the  realms  of  mind  and  heart, 

Still  to  be,  as  they  had  been, 
Of  our  very  life  a  part;  — 

i 
Oh,  to  see  them  day  by  day 

Lose  that  magic  power  to  bless! 

Oh,  to  feel  them  wear  away  — 
Feel  that  nearness  growing  less! 

Is  there  art  to  heal  the  pain, 
Bring  the  aching  heart  relief, 

When  with  anguish  wild  and  vain 
Deepens  down  this  deepest  grief? 


A  COMPLAINT. 

• 

Sweet  bird  that  chants  so  joyous  strain. 
Wake  glad  your  early  songs  and  late; 

Pour  free  your  jubilant  heart  amain, 
The  live  long  day — who  needst  but  wait 

The  twilight  hush,  to  seek  again 

Your  nest  and  mate. 

And  ye  that  grosser  instincts  bear, 
That  roam  the  homeless  wilderness; 

Whom  nature  haunts  with  hungry  care, 
Or  fiercest  brutal  passions  press; 

Ye  too  may  turn  to  love-built  lair, 

And  cubs1  caress. 

And  ye  that  pipe,  with  droning  shrill, 
From  shrub,  and  tree,  your  vesper  sigh,- 

Ye  lowly  insect  tribes  that  fill 

The  gloom  with  night-long  minstrelsy. 

Blow  wide  your  homely  reeds  that  trill 

Love's  lullaby. 


A  COMPLAINT.  207 

And  ye  that  prone  in  darkness  keep, 
Whose  life  but  earthy  senses  bind, — 

Ye  nameless  reptile  brood  that  creep 
Low  on  the  outer  verge  of  mind, 

Ye  too  may  own  companionship, 

And  love  of  kind. 

Earth,  wandering,  bears  a  tranquil  breast, 

Content  a  kindred  orb  to  own; 
With  stars  that  constellated  rest, 

The  ether's  purple  deeps  are  sown; 
All  things  the  law  of  Love  attest, 

Save  Man  alone! 

Life's  riddles  dark — ah  me! — are  vain, 

All  vain,  these  beauty-dreams  that  haunt? 

While  from  the  worm  we  dare  disdain, 
Comes  up  Love's  roundelay  to  taunt 

Our  empty  breasts'  wild,  yearning  pain, 

And  deathless  want. 

When  shall  our  souls  the  joys  confess, 
That  to  the  lowliest  creatures  come, 

Their  meaner  lives  to  charm  and  bless? 
When  shall  our  weary  hearts  that  roam 

So  lonely  and  companionless, 

Find  rest  and  home? 


RE-EMERGED. 


ON  tranquil  tides  afar  lie  isles  of  Summer, 

Where  shine  serene,  mantled  in  tropic  calm, 

Olive,  magnolia,  palm; 
Along  whose  shores  the  billows  lapsing  murmur 

Their  glad  immortal  psalm. 


Yet  were  these,  fair,  the  radiant  sunlight  gilding. 
Out  of  the  deeps  where  slimy  creatures  stray. 

Out  of  the  briny  spray, 
Slowly  through  long  uncounted  years  upbuilding 

Into  the  light  of  day. 


So  erst  my  heart,  in  seas  of  foregone  anguish, 
Sunken  too  deep  for  plummet -line  of  hope, 

Striving,  did  faint  and  grope, 
Ages  on  ages,  and  despairing  languish, 

And  with  all  monsters  cope. 


BE -EMERGED.  209 


Or  rising'  thence,  through  oft  alternate  burning 
And  glacier -griding  as  the  cycles  run, 

Or  fiercer  strife  anon 
Of  earthquake  shock,  yearned  Avith  a  deathless  yearning 

Toward  love's  transcendent  sun; 


And  ever  of  some  fateful  force  the  urgence 

Confessed,  like  all  things  fair  that  upward  grow 

Out  of  the  dark  below, 
The  admonition  of  a  fair  emergence. 

And  of  the  morning  glow: 


The  vision  of  a  bright  supernal  yonder, 

Of  verdured  vales  with  harvest  fields  along. 

Where  happy  gleaners  throng; 
Of  flowery  groves  where  spicy  breezes  wander, 

And  jubilant  with  song. 


At  length  through  thee,  0  Friend  — 0  Spirit  tender! 
0  best  beloved!  —  out  of  the  years  forlorn 

My  darkened  soul  is  born  — 
Out  of  the  deeps,  into  the  sapphire  splendor 

Of  a  transcendent  morn. 

27 


210  HE -EMERGED. 


Lit  with  the  light  divine,  there  lies  a  glory 
On  all  the  land,  enrobed  in  living  green  — 

Love's  radiant  glow  and  sheen; 
More  marvellous  the  zephyr's  whispered  story 

Of  beauty  yet  unseen. 


While  all  day  long  the  billows'  lips  are  pressing 

The  golden  sands,  with  nc\v-  world  splendors  bright: 

Kisses  that  may  requite 
Love  infinite  —  repay  the  priceless  blessing. 

Precious,  of  life  and  light. 


And  oh!  more  fair  than  crowned  the  Summers  olden, 
Along  the  hills,  late  lifted  from  the  brine. 

Shall  fragrant  garlands  twine; 
In  Autumn  suns  all  luscious  fruits  hang  golden, 

And  purple  clusters  shine. 


CENTENNIAL. 

Turn  backward — turn  the  horoscope  of  Time 
Backward  a  hundred  years, 
0  year  sublime ! 

Lo !  by  the  sea, 
Anxious  and  bowed  in  tears, 
Tearful  but  not  forlorn, 
Columbia  sitting  by  the  cradled  form 

Of  one  but  newly  born; 
Sitting  with  mother-breast  all  full  and  warm, 
Feeding  thy  infant  life,  0  Liberty ! 

Now  in  her  matron  pride  she  sees  thee  stand 
Unto  full  stature  grown; 
From  strand  to  strand, 
Wide  leagues  away — 
Still  on — and  all  thine  own. 
Stretches  thy  fair  estate; 
From  Isles  of  Palm  to  belts  of  Northern  pine, 

From  where  the  Golden  Gate 
Looks  on  the  sea,  to  the  Atlantic  brine; 
Transfigured  all  in  the  new-risen  day! 


212  CENTENNTA  L. 

A  hundred  years!  0  who  so  wise  to  know 

The  good  thy  years  have  brought, — 
To  rightly  show 

What  work  divine 

Our  hands  through  thee  have  wrought? 
By  thee  inspired  to  toil 
We  builded — building  better  than  we  planned; 

Though  shaped  in  grime  and  moil, 
Before  our  thought  embodied  full  and  grand, 
We  stand  abashed, — knowing  the  work  is  thine. 

To-day  thy  Commerce  spreads  her  snowy  sail 
On  the  remotest  main; 
And  many  a  vale 

Where  wakes  the  sound 
Of  forge  and  loom  and  plane, 
Where  Learning  builds  her  shrine, 
Faith  lights  her  altars,  Art  her  temple  rears, 

Where  homes  fond  hearts  entwine, 
Where  harvests  yield  their  wealth  of  golden  ears; 
Was  at  thy  birth  a  wilderness  profound. 

Through  mountain  reach,by  hill  and  moor  and  mead 
We  stretch  the  iron  way, 
On  which  the  steed 
That  never  tires, 
Treads  with  exultant  neigh ; 


CENTENNIA  L.  9 1 3 

The  plowman  turning  o'er 
The  farthest  glebe,  a  joyful  tremor  feels; 

The  woodman  from  his  door 
Hears  from  afar  the  sound  of  rolling  wheels; — 
Hearing,  his  soul  with  nobler  impulse  fires. 

And  here  to-day,  where  thou  didst  wake  to  birth- 
Life  from  the  Life  Divine! 
Owning  thy  worth, 
A  mighty  throng 
Come — pilgrims  to  thy  shrine, 
Than  armed  host  more  grand ! 
Never  before  such  sound  of  hurrying  feet 

Was  heard  in  all  the  land; 
And  still  they  come, — bearing  an  homage  meet ; 
And  still, — and  twice  a  hundred  thousand  strong! 

.And  hither  from  across  the  stormy  main 
Have  the  far  Nations  brought, 
And  not  in  vain, 
To  honor  thee, 

Works  that  their  hands  have  wrought; 
Treasures  of  every  zone: 
Fur  of  all  beasts  that  tread  the  Polar  snow; 

Sheaves  from  all  harvests  sown; 
Gems,  spices,  gums— all  plants,  all  fruits  that  grow 
In  gardens  cradled  on  the  Tropic  sea. 


214  CENTENNIAL. 

And  dearer  than  all  wealth,  or  proud  device 
From  Labor's  tireless  hand, 
Bought  with  the  price 
Of  precious  blood — 
Freedom  in  all  the  land ! 
Lighting  the  hills  of  Time, 
Onward  the  morning  glow  of  Freedom  runs, — 

Onward  from  clime  to  clime; 
Lo!   Afric's  sons  reaching  to  Afric's  sons 
A  helping  hand  across  the  briny  flood! 

And  though  the  evil  Hosts  that  round  thee  stood 
On  that  momentous  day 
Of  Motherhood, 

That  gave  thee  life, 
Dare  still  thy  children  slay; 
'Aye! — Though  must  be  again, 
And  yet  again,  thy  battle  fought  and  won, — 

Must  be  thy  patriots  slain, 
0  Liberty!  as  they  of  Lexington, 

And  they  that  fell  in  Gettysburg's  wild  strife; — 

Though  too — 0  shame! — thy  sons  against  thee  turn 
Schooled  in  all  low  desires: 
With  hearts  that  burn 
With  greed  of  gold, 
Or  lusts  that  power  inspires; 


CENTENNIAL.  215 

Yet  will  we  not  despair: 
The  God  of  Nations  shall  all  gods  dethrone, 

All  realms  dissolve  in  air, 

Save  that  wherein  each  soul  shall  have  its  own, — 
The  Key  to  its  own  destiny  shall  hold. 

We  hark  the  chimes  that  ring  thy  natal  year: 
A  far-off  minstrelsy 
We  seem  to  hear; 

And  sweeter  than 
The  bells'  "Sweet  bye  and  bye," 
Is  the  low-heard  refrain ; 
A  music  that  our  ears  have  waited  long, 

Erewhile  to  swell  amain ; 
The  prelude  to  the  glad  millennial  song 

Of — "  Peace  on  earth;  peace  and  good  will  to  Man.' 


ASPIRATION. 


My  heart's  aspiring  is,  to  me, 

Of  every  good  the  prophecy — 

The  seed-corn  of  the  time  to  be; 

And  though  I  mourn  its  planting  vain 
Till  dewy  tears,  like  summer  rain, 
Have  freely  watered  all  the  plain, 

Erewhile  my  gladdened  eyes  shall  dwell 

On  sheaves  of  plenty,   ripened  well, 
Nor  be  my  toil  in  vain. 

Though  stubborn  glebe  be  loth  to  yield, 
Though  only  wrought  to  fallow  field 
By   pointed  share,   oft  newly-steeled; 
Though  late  the  tender  blade  appears, 
Though  slow  the  fruitful  stalk  uprears, 
And  long  ere,  glad,  the  well-filled  ears 
I  crib; — the  harvest's  ample  store 
Shall  safely  garnered  be  before 
The  winter  storm  appears. 


ASPIRATION.  217 

So  will  I  trust; — in  faith  and  "prayer 
Plant  truth   and  friendship  everywhere; 
And  love,  0  seed  of  harvests  rare ! 
Deep  in  some  gentle  bosom  warm 
That  thrills,  as  mine,  in  calm  and  storm, 
To  beauty's  glance  and  glowing  form ; 
Nor  doubt  the  Autumn  days  shall  shine, 
Full-crowned  and  rich  in  corn  and  wine — 
•    True  hearts,  fond,  full  and  warm. 

For  this  I  hold: — however  crossed 
By  drouth  or  flood,  by  storm  or  frost, 
No  stroke  of  honest  toil  is  lost; 

That  still  one  purpose  holds  through  all, 

Whatever  evil  fate  befall, 

That  unto  each,  or  great  or  small, 
Or  soon  or  late  is  justice  done 
In  every  land  beneath  the  sun; — 

That  God  is  over  all. 

28 


WEDDED  LOVE. 

In  the  blue  that  bends  above  us, 

Shining  far, 
Never  alien  star  that  mated 

Alien  star; 
Though  with  light  the  purple  ether 

Depths  are  sown, 

Every  orb  there  steadfast  burneth — 
Faithful  turning  to  ITS  ow  N  . 

Like  as  they,  are  we,  fate-chosen — 

Mine  and  thine; 
So  thy  heart,  0  true  heart !  wedded 

Unto  mine, 
Like  two  flowers  that  grow  together 

In  the  grove, 

With  one  root,  one  stem,  one  fragrance. 
And  one  sun — the  sun  of  Love. 


FORTY  YEARS  AGO. 

TO-DAY  the  paths  my  infant  footsteps  pressed, 

I  tread,  in  stranger  guise; 
t  climb  the  hills,  whose  woodland-mantled  crest 

First  met  my  infant  eyes; 
On  grassy  mound,  in  Autumn's  paling  glow, 

I  sit  and  muse,  where  in  the  olden  time 
I  sat  and  dreamed — dreams  only  Youth  may  know 

Oh!  dreams  sublime, 
Dreamed  forty  years  ago. 


The  pines  above  me  sing  as  erst  they  sung : 

The  well-remembered  lyre 
I  hear  again,  but  not  the  Prophet-tongue— 

"  Aspire,  0  Heart  !  aspire  ;" 
As  from  some  prisoned  Ariel's  lips  of  woe, 

The  voice  wherein  their  murmurous  boughs  complain  ; 
Far  off  I  hear,  in  accents  faint  and  low, 

The  sad  refrain 
Of—"  Forty  years  ago." 


220  FORTY  YEARS  AGO. 

How  much  I  miss  that  Memory's  pictures  hold: 

Now  but  a  tiny  rill 
The  brook  whereon  at  springtime-flood  of  old 

I  built  the  mimic  mill; 

Up  to  the  spring,  whence  its  pure  waters  flow, 
I  wend,  and  from  its  shrunken  tide  partake; 
Oh!  but  for  once  the  keener  thirst  to  know 

Its  wave  did  slake, 
Slake — forty  years  ago. 

Where  stretched  the  moor  that  foretime  seemed  to  mock 

At  Labor's  hand  benign, 
In  pastures  green  now  roam  the  bleating  flock, 

Wide  graze  the  lowing  kine; 
Where  Autumn  woods  erewhile  did  flame  and  glow, 

Outspreads  a  furrowed  field,  all  bare  and  brown ; 
How  oft  I  shook  for  eager  hands  below, 

The  ripe  nuts  down, 
There — forty  years  ago ! 

Once  more  I  roam  where  oft  with  dog  and  gun 

I  scoured  the  wooded  glen; 
Oft  set  the  snare  upon  the  rabbit's  run, 

Or  by  the  woodchuck's  den; 


FORTY  YEARS  AGO.  221 

Let  him  who  will,  hunt  elk  and  buffalo, 

With  fearless  aim  bring  down  the  moose  arid  bear; 
No  sport  the  hunter  of  the  wild  may  know, 

Than  this  more  rare — 
Of  forty  years  ago. 

Again  beneath  the  orchard  trees  I  stray, 

The  trees  I  used  to  climb; 
But  oh !  somehow  the  apples  lack  to-day 

The  flavor  of  old  time; 
Though  still  their  shining  globes  lie  thick  below — 

In  blushing  heaps,  green,  red,  and  gold,  I  see  ; 
Is  it,  this  change — alas !  I  hardly  know — 

In  them  or  me, 
Since  forty  years  ago? 

The  spot  where  stood  the  home  that  gave  me  birth, 

With  grass  is  overgrown; 
Alone  is  left  of  all  that  ample  hearth 

One  solitary  stone. 
Ah!  since  that  day,  though  I  have  wandered  so, 

Have  seen  remotest  firesides  blaze  and  shine, 
None  have  I  found  to  match  that  warmth  and  glow, 

That  beam  divine 
Of  forty  years  ago. 


222  FORTY  TEARS  AGO. 


Still  stands,  as  then,  the  school-house  old;  renewed, 

And  old  again;  to  me 
The  same  as  when  upon  its  benches  rude 

I  conned  my  ABC; 

Still  carvings  quaint  the  desk  and  lintels  show, — 
The  work  of  hands  beyond  their  task's  employ; 
If  but  by  this,  the  boy  to-day,  I  know 

Is  as  the  boy 
Of  forty  years  ago. 


What  nameless  sins  through  ferule's  sting  and  smart 

Did  I  there  expiate; 
Some  unrepented  still — obdurate  heart! 

Now  I  recall — so  late — 
The  schoolmate  maiden  that  did  tempt  me  so; 

Yet  I  forgave  her  all : — and  it  were  bliss, 
At  thrice  its  price  of  stripes,  thy  sweets  to  know, 

0  stolen  kiss 
Of  forty  years  ago ! 

Last  night  I  sat  beside"  that  saucy  maid, 

The  same,  yet  not  the  same; 
The  frosts  of  Time  had  touched  each  auburn  braid, 

But  left  her  heart,  her  name; 


FORTY  YEARS  AGO.  223 

From  childhood's  years  had  it  been  ours  to  grow, 

As  we  together  grew — I  questioned  Fate, — 
Would  she,  unwedded,  still  have  waited  so, 

My  gentle  mate 
Of  forty  years  ago? 

To  know  what  might  have  been,  why  should  I  seek? — 

The  good  that  may  not  be; 
The  Sibyl  better  silence  keep  than  speak 

Too  late  for  Destiny; 
Yet  had  it  been  my  lot  such  joy  to  know, — 

0  foolish  Heart !  what  wayward  pulse  is  thine'; 
For  all  our  dreams,  it  may  be  better  so, 

0  schoolmate  mine 
Of  forty  years  ago! 

The  Comrades  of  old  days — oh!  where  are  they? 

Far  from  their  native  soil, 
Unto  what  lands  gone  each  his  separate  way,— 

Into  what  fields  of  toil? 
Some  cherished  names  the  marble  tablets  show, 

And  some,  alas!  are  fallen  more  than  they; 
Some  toward  a  nobler  manhood  strive  and  grow 

Still,  day  by  day, 
As  forty  years  ago. 


224  FORTY  TEARS  AGO. 


And  where,  the  forms  more  comely  in  my  eyes, — 

That  uiore  in  beauty  grew, 
Their  faces  lit  with  Learning's  morning-rise, 

And  with  a  purpose  new? 
By  Pleasure  some,  some  lured  by  Fashion's  show, 

Some,  crowned  with  Woman's  fairest  crown  to-day, 
Have  sown  the  world  with  men; — as  erst  did  sow 

Our  mothers, — they 
Of  forty  years  ago. 


The  vision  fades, — the  scenes  of  Childhood  fly,- 

Recedes  the  Primal  Age; 
Upon  my  pen  the  sunset-shadows  lie, 

My  tears  despoil  the  page; 
And  I  full  soon,  the  waiting  fields  to  sow 

For  harvests  new,  afar  again  shall  roam ; 
Once  more  adieu — the  last — I  bid  thee,  0 

My  Boyhood's  Home 
Of  forty  years  ago! 


0  Heart  of  Youth!    0  Soul  of  Prophecy! 

Go  with  me  on  my  way ; 
Fore-herald  still  more  happy  days  to  be, 

That  evermore  delay; 


FORTY  TEARS  AGO.  235 

For  oh !  not  all  in  vain  the  dreams  that  so 

Have  led  my  weary  feet  by  crystal  streams; 
Though  some  have  fled, — thank  God!  some  wax  and  grow 

To  fairer  dreams 
Than  forty  years  ago. 

And  may  I,  free  from  Time's  decay  and  rust, 

Still  keep  Youth's  horoscope; 
Keep  all  undimmed  my  childhood's  love  and  trust, 

My  childhood's  faith  and  hope; 
That  at  the  last,  when  fades  Earth's  fleeting  show, — 
Falls  round  my  life  the  twilight's  gathering  haze, 
A  bright  Beyond  shall  beckon,  shine  and  glow, 

As  in  the  days 
Of  forty  years  ago. 

9B 


TO  A   WATER-LILY. 


0  LILY  !  that  dost  sit  with  queenly  brow, 
Lapped  on  the  tranquil  wave  in  regal  bloom, 

The  fairest,  thou 

Of  all  the  hosts  whose  beauty  lights  the  gloom 
Of  leafy  haunts,  where  no  rude  step  intrudes; 
Your  nectared  sweets  intense  afar  perfume 
The  wildwood  solitudes. 

Thou  hadst  thy  birth  in  some  ecstatic  hour 
Of  Nature's  youthful  passion  undcfiled; 

0  peerless  flower  ! 
By  many  a  reedy  tarn,  her  dearest  child 

The  mother-breast  still  nurtures,  warm  and  true; 
And  taught  are  all  the  creatures  of  the  wild 
To  yield  their  homage  due. 


TO  A  WATER-LILY.  227 

The  Sun-fish  watching  by  her  unhatched  spawn, 
Oft  turns  to  gaze  upon  thy  wondrous  show; 

The  gentle  Fawn 
That  slakes  his  noontide  thirst,  as  wading  slow 

The  limpid  pool,  thy  slender  stem  beside, 
Bends  wistful  on  thy  diadem  of  snow 
His  wild  eyes,  wonder- wide. 


The  Bobolink,  whose  joyous  carol  thrills 
With  music  rare  the  woodlands  far  away, 

One  moment  stills 
His  matin  song  to  look  on  thee,  and  pay 

Obeisance  low,  and  then  more  glad  and  free 
Exultant  pours,  in  raptured  roundelay, 
His  loyal  heart  to  thee. 


The  Waves  with  gentle  arms  do  thee  enfold, 
With  soft  caress  their  love  for  thee  declare ; 

As  half  untold, 
They  round  thee  linger,  press  thy  bosom  fair; 

Then  pass  the  tranquil  mere's  full-brimming  urn, 
Afar  the  river's  rocky  channel  dare — 
The   waiting  mill-wheel  turn. 


TO  A  WATER-LILT. 


With  passion  pure  the  Zephyr  stoops  to  kiss 
Thy  dewy  lips  till   faiut    with  ecstacy; 

Or  drunk  with  bliss 

That  in  fond  heart  aspires,  he  wanders  free, 
Anon  low  whispers  to  the  listening  grove, 
In  mystic  tongue,  his  lavish  praise  of  thee, — 
A  lover's  tale  of  love. 


In  thee  there  dwells  a  chastened  spirit  fine, 
That  in  all  matchless  grace  doth  thee  array  ; 

What  art  divine 
In  waxy  leaf  and  pearly  petals — yea, 

Of  loveliness,  what  miracle  sublime  ! 
And  thou  didst  spring  out  of  the  miry  clay — 
Out  of  the  muck  and  slime. 


And  did  there  come  down  to  thy  prisoned  heart 
Some  dream  transcendent  of  the  days  to  be  ? 

The  pain  and  smart 
Of  vain,  long,  weary  yearning  to  be  free? 

The  premonition  of  a  glory  won, 
Throned  in  thy  splendor  on  the  purple  sea, 
With   kisses  of  the  sun? 


TO  A  WATER-LILY.  339 


0  Lily  !  In  thy  form  do  I  behold 
Our  being  typed  ?  Do  we,  too,  upward  grow? 

Our  life  enfold, 
As  doth  thy  bud,  a  summer's  radiant  show? 

And  all  this  sense  of  longing,  doubt  and  dread- 
Is  it  the  spring-time  quickening,  felt  below, 
Dowii  in  the  mucky  bed? 


Within  the  soul  a  world  of  beauty  lies: 
Out  of  this  earthly  soil  of  gloom  and  night 

We  too  shall  rise 
Erelong  to  realm  unseen  of  mortal  sight, 

Whereof  hath  poet  sung  and  prophet  toid; 
And  in  that  fairer  clime  of  love  and  light 
Life's  perfect  flower  unfold. 


As  to  her  best  beloved  the  mother's  heart 
Still  yearns  when  passed  is  c.hildhood's  tender  age,  — 
When  from  her  home  and  hearth  she  bids  him  <jo. 

The  stay  and  builder  of  the  days  to  be; 
As  unto  him,  while  loving  tears  do  flow, 

Her  blessing  with  the  parting  ki™  is  ain-n, 
To  him  that  is  of  her  own  life  a  part, 

Asking  upon  his  head  the  smiles  of  Heaven  ; 
So  do  I  yearn  to  thee,  O  lettered  Page  ! 

As  hers  my  love.  —  as  hers  iny  prayer  for  thee. 

Born  in  a  world  of  books,  O  Book  of  mine  ! 
To-day,  with  noise-dulled  ear,  may  pass  thee  by; 
Born  to  thy  destiny,  albeit  late, 

All  that  to  thee  belong  the  Years  shall  give  ; 
If  Prophet  of  the  Better  Time  ice  wait, 

If  Truth's  evangel,  Beauty's  messenger; 
If  the  high  Art,  however  rude,  is  thine, 

That  can  the  soul  to  nobler  impulse  stir, 
Serving  its  deeper  need,  thou  shalt  not  die : 

Use  is  the  deed  of  life  to  all  that  live. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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